Blood drips from my wrist.
Slowly but surely leaving me dizzy.
Time passes as I become weak, weak with loss, weak with hopelessness.
I can't handle things as they come.
One problem after another, they harm me.
No one realises how much life hurts, after a loss, that is.
Since he's been gone...
I feel empty.
I see stars... spots... shapes shielding my view.
I attempt to count the blood drops.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I'm losing blood faster and faster by the second.
Each drip brings me closer to the edge, where I meet my fate.
Life or death, I ask you?
Heaven or hell?
To me, well... it doesn't matter anymore.
I lost the one feeling I cannot live without.
Love.
But what is love, when you have no one to share it with?
What is life without a meaning?
I've seen things I should never have seen, done things I should never have done.
What has it come to?
I know everyone should have a purpose, even him.
He doesn't matter anymore.
He didn't have a purpose.
He still doesn't.
He isn't here to tell me everything is alright.
No one is.
I'm alone.
With blood pooling around me.
Like a plant needs water, I need love but it is gone.
It is never to be seen again.
I could love no one as I loved him.
No love could be as strong as ours.
He used to watch me sleep.
He had a smile on his face.
That smile doesn't show anymore.
I don't feel his presence anymore.
He doesn't exist.
He used to care for me.
That care is not there.
He used to whisper words of love in my ear.
I don't hear those sweet words anymore.
He is nothing but a memory.
He has seen it all though his life.
He knows the history.
He knows it like the back of his hand.
That saying would usually make me laugh.
It doesn't anymore.
Hatred in the day, love across the night.
But what is hatred, when there is no one left to hate?
Tears appear with thoughts of him.
Blood is still dripping.
It has a ghastly deep red.
It is the thickness of paint.
I prey it is paint.
But I know it isn't.
It is blood.
It is Life ending, pain causing... blood.
It makes me sick to think he used to like this.
The warm liquid that emerges from my veins.
Now I think about it, that was his purpose.
Killing.
The marble floor is a mess now.
It was once white.
It was once a homely place.
The exact spot in which I'm bleeding is where we had our first kiss.
It was magical.
Time stopped when we connected.
It was as though god thought I deserved a chance at life.
I knew he didn't really care about me.
He was probably busy ruining someone else's life.
Just for that moment.
I remember the feelings like it was just yesterday.
The warmth his body gave me.
The shivers that occurred.
The sparks that flew around us.
Maybe you think I'm exaggerating.
You would be wrong.
The blood is turning a rusty brown now.
The once white floor changing.
The place was once happy, it now turns sad.
Isn't it funny how colours change the feeling of a place?
If a garden is sunny you think 'how nice'.
If it is dark and grey you think 'how awful'.
It is the same with blood to him.
Red was his favourite colour.
Brown was his hate.
Once the victim's blood changed to brown...
He was done with them.
They were nothing.
He also liked intimate deaths.
Guns were a big 'NO WAY!' to him.
He liked to cut.
It satisfied him.
He usually left a message with the cuts.
Just to say he had been around.
The world wanted him to die.
They finally got their wish.
The strange thing was, he did nothing wrong.
I know what you're thinking.
Killing is wrong.
I know.
It was the week after he had agreed to stop.
Killing that is.
He didn't deserve to die.
He gave up his only purpose.
He would be happy if he saw me now.
His favourite colour settled around me.
Covering the floor.
The smell of death in the air.
He likes death.
But I don't think he liked his own.
It was murder, the way he died.
My envy.
My one true love never to be seen again.