Drip, drip, drip.
Silence,
shattered only by the constant drip,
coming from the red river
as it flows down her cold, dead finger tips,
ending in a drip.
Her peaceful death,
ruined only by the river.
Drip,
the sound of her finished life,
Drip,
the sound of her ended sorrows,
Drip,
the sound of her death,
taken by her own hand.
No one knows,
what had ever laid behind her mask.
No one understands,
the pain of living each day,
and only she realizes why death was her only choice.
Drip,
the red river flows,
but slowly begins to fade,
as it tells the tales of her past horrors,
Drip,
all thats left of her is....
Drip,
this river of her blood,
drip,
as even the red river comes to an end.
Comments
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wow!!!
this is something not alot of people can turn into a passion writing. good job!
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