Invisible
I'm tired, tired of...

She draws the knife
across her arms...

Leave a hand-print
on my soul...

The colors play across
the sheets...

You're gone now, but I still
think...

I contemplate the blade,
thinking about its...

It's left, my tears.
It's red, my little paper heart...

Be mine, my little dark angel.
By pain, you await my arrival...

What is it to you?
That I cut...

You say I'm beautiful, but
which do you mean...

Her wings,
like the fragile, soapy outside of a bubble...

She stands there,
looking through the glass...