August 24, 2009
The sun that glares through my broken window into my broken heart mocks me with its shining yellow color as this crimson regret fllows down my arm.
This reflection that stares beack at me from the cold metal blade is no longer mine.
But beneath the hazy eyes, fatiqued body and shaking lips that speak mute pleas, I am there.
And there I am dying, in miserable silence.

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