bleed bleed bleed.
If I bleed
I'm alive.
I need to know if i'm alive.
blood blood blood.
Why red?
Was it because it was the color of love?
Or was it because red was so easy to get lost in?
A pool of red, I'd drown in.
Bleed bleed bleed.
Droplets of blood staining the floor now.
If this were an artwork, I'd be praised.
Am I an artwork?
If being broken was art, I'd be a masterpiece.
Blood blood blood.
Love and death are represented both by red.
Is that a coincedence?
I would never die for love.
Love is not what pushed me to this.
Death did.
Bleed Bleed Bleed.
Death calls out my name, everyday, every night.
So inviting and peaceful and beautiful.
Death was my only friend, and it asked for one thing only.
Me.
Who am I to deny it that?
Blood Blood Blood.
Red. Everything is red.
Death whispers my name and holds out its hand.
Must I grab it?
I've only held hands with Death once.
Not that long ago.
BLEED BLEED BLEED.
Its hand feels so warm and yet so cold.
Familiar. Did I know it?
I wish for freedom and silence, and Death promises that and so much more.
Why is it so red?
BlOOD BLOOD BLOOD.
A pool of red. Am I drowning?
It's so welcoming.
Is this what freedom feels like?
Because I feel nothing.
Death grips my hand and I feel pain.
But it's pain with silence.