Bittersweet Designs
Red stains her porcilin skin,
She drops the weapon,
Not able to take it anymore.
She watches maroon touch silk,
dying it,
making paterns,
and bittersweet designs.
She thinks of what they say,
and they are right,
She should be gone,
no evidence that she was ever there,
The world would be better without her.
As her concious fades,
so does her being,
almost non-exsistant,
going,
going,
gone.
