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I used to think graveyards were a beautiful sight. Not because of all the dead, but because of the way flowers would rest on the stones and crows would call out to the sky. I guess they were beautiful when no one you knew was buried within. I wish I knew how my tastes would change, and my throat would get tight seeing the cemetery gates. It was pitiful, the reasoning as to why I ended up here so, so often. One more time I wish I could say goodbye, and maybe make my last words something more heartfelt instead of hateful. It's like their lives were timed too short, and I wasn't prepared for the timer to run out.
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Save Me
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The Funeral Style
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My Short Life
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I was drowning. I knew that. I also knew that the hands around my throat, pushing me deeper into the river water was the cause. What I didn't know was who was drowning me and why. It hurt thinking. It hurt to do anything right now. But I still screamed under the cold water and pushed the hands away as hard as I could. It didn't have much effect. I fought and fought, but I was getting weaker, and colder. The pain was overbearing. I couldn't breathe. It was the worst pain imaginable; and as the hands that were around my neck were forcibly ripped off by some unknown force, I slipped deeper into the depths of the river. My hair was straight above me along with my arms. My eyes were open and the water burned. A darkness started to pull me under, taking the pain away. I felt a small pressure around my waist, before the darkness completely consumed me. The last thing I remember is thinking, save me.
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