At Rest Dressed For Death
I awake to the taste of death dancing upon my tongue, my
eyes struggle to find focus in the darkness that envelops
me.
Across the pale lit room your carcass lay drowning in the
tide that flows from your wrist.
Your choice of self mutilation lay at your side.
Jelousy over takes me, as death has claimed you before I.
Failure found me for my crimson crusted wrists speak for
themselves.
My body yerning for a chance to heal.
Angered at the thought of life I grasp the blade that lay
fallen at your side.
Your blood will kiss my wrists,
For the Reaper shall not pass me by as I cut deeper.
It flows it flails the brightest color of the night.
I rest my head upon the pillow for this bed shall be my
casket.
My eyes begin to find rest, as the signs of death begin
to dance upon my corpse.
The reaper resides above my body,
Sickle in hand,
Hell at his side.
For we have found flames, but you before I.
