I have a little shard of glass from the candle they gave the girls who went to the prom. I know it's sharp because I stepped on it last night, and punctured my foot.
I'd love to see it glittering in the moonlight, soaked in my blood as I wait, my dying breath upon my lips and still I'll call your name. Every day ends the same and I know not how to live except in pain. My world has ended and it ends every day because I know not how to say what lays in my heart, the pain and agony, ecstasy at slitting my soft, pale flesh into ribbons.
Care to tie my ribbon around your arm in memorium?