Murder

Standard
Looking down, I see a tiny blade protruding from my chest
Wounded
Watch, as the thick crimson flows down in a thirsty trail from my heart
Dying
The pool, turning black at my feet,
As in the representation of the extinction of life; and it is
The tar-like edges clinging to my skin,
Covering the pink flesh
I’m falling
Fading out,
Clouding vision,
And I am alone
Dead
The murderer, refusing to sacrifice, ran away
 
 
i am grateful for kind words. ❤
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One response »

  1. Pingback: Monthly Archives: April 2013 | Muse Writer

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