Alone.
All I am is alone (but i like it that way).
Late at night, every single trickle of humanity has left me for more novel pursuits and I bask in the delicate insanity that washes over me. A darkness that leaves no question of what the color black is; as it transcends mere shadow, drips through my veins and discolors sweet crimson fluid, a copper taste gone for molten silver. Broken; I am broken.
Will I be rescued - or am I to, as always, rescue myself, only to caress my tender, pale flesh (you always did call me an angel) with cold, cold blades.