I'm nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.
You can see it it the red of the lipstick that stains my mouth, in the color pigment of the nail varnish permanently covering my sharp fingernails. They're both as red as blood.
I killed the girl I used to be.
I go to war every single day hoping not to do it again, and I go to bed every single night having failed. The battle is too hard and unfortunately, I always end up dead at the end.
I'm nothing but a girl flirting with death.
The sharpness of my winged eyeliner resembles the knife I twist into my soul.
Black. It's color is enticing, bringing you in while my words trap you.
I may not be homicidal but I am suicidal.
