Staring out the window
In the bitter cold of December
It is foggy but there is so sign of snow
It is yet again the onset of a mournful and gloomy winter
Everything outside is so calm and quiet
But still there is an unceasing wait for peace
In a dark room, feeling hopeless and dead
Alone she sits with a beast
Dwelling in her mind provoking her to do awful things
She gives into her self destruction
Defeated and weak she slides the blade across her cold skin feeling this odd sense of satisfaction
She murmurs to herself "is it suicide if the soul is already dead?"
Whilst warm blood dripped, profusely she bled
Soon her head became heavy, her sight blurred
The dark became darker, she slithered down the door
This was it, gently she smiled
As tranquility finally swept across her mind