Laying in the night
A sweet honey voice calls
No where near me, in a much farther place
Somewhere inside
Inside my head
Tempting
Taunting
Slick like butter
"Do it."
The hand moves alone
Up and around the bedsheets
Has its own will
It's own master
It's own mission
Gathers what it can and plays the fingers to the throat, choking words, gasps, and tears
Throws it unto paper
It a black paint
No shades of red, blue even if those are her favorite colors
Black
And the deepest of tragedies
Splattered on a thin sheet of white paper
It's seeping from the pen unto skin
Underneath layers
It turns blood cold
Hurriedly, the other hand moves to remove the stain,
Remove the mark
Remove existence
It's too late
Her blood and body
Have been stained.
