Dementia
Blood covers the floor,
Pouring from an open wound,
You cry,
Watching as your life drains,
The gash on your wrist pales.
Why me,
You think,
You see the image of him,
Standing there,
Laughing.
You want to stop the death,
Stop your life-blood flowing,
Wasting,
On the ground.
Your eyes grow heavy,
You lay in a crimson lake,
The darkness is welcoming,
Beckoning.
-END-
