Blood runs from the hole that I pierced my skin
This is it, this is the end of my being.
My fingers I no longer can see but redness of my parents production, all I feel is tension.
My body no longer can differentiate
between pain or crying
As all the functions of my body are failing.
The silver metal with wooden handle played a song and now it's job is done.
Silence is all that is around me
now and reflections of my years starts to appear.
From toes come straight up to head coldness begins to spread and spread...
