The Suicide of an Angel

The blade glides across my wrist
These crimson tears will not be missed.
The puddle on the floor surely to stain
From blood and teardrops shed in vain

Knowing i will not be missed,
From angelic heights of holiness
Plunged from an Olympus, once like a god,
Forsaken, crushed by the almighty's shod.

Feeling cold, no turning back,
Oh how ive fallen so far off track.
Last breath draws near, the end comes soon,
Not even enough time to conjure a rune.

Last breath leaves, im cold all over,
Now ends an eternity of corrupted composure.
The last crimson tear, now hits the floor,
this living hell is now no more