Children of the darkness paint ice upon my window,
Their bluish white skin is dead,
And they bleed,
Crying red tears,
But never ceasing in their task.
The moon shrinks,
As their white eyes follow the brush strokes.
I touch the icy glass,
Staring at their innocent,
Yet terrifying faces.
And I cry with them,
Tears streaming out,
The frozen roses exploding in my distant garden.
I weep for the ghosts,
Wishing I could ease their pain.
The frost on my window is starting to become red,
And the tiny, stricken faces disappear,
The image of glass spears running through their small bodies, lingering in front of my eyes.
I touch the lilies in their vase,
Searching for some comfort to my pain...
But they only whither,
Turning black and hence to ash.
How can I be forsaken?
My hands are shaking,
Though I don't know why I fear death.
I could just be rid of everything that has taken its evil hold on me.
I can still hear the children crying,
Their sobs emanate within my brain,
Their final minutes whisper in my breaking mind.
I pour wine into my glass,
Seeking refuge in losing touch with my morbid reality.
I take the first sip,
And watch the glass fall from my hand,
Smashing, the blood staining the floor.
I throw the bottle at the wall,
Beginning to watch intently as the blood flows down the white paint.
I blink, and a small body is on the floor,
Cheek splattered in blood,
Fingers cold, pale and graced with dew and melting ice.
More of the children flood my floor,
Pooled in blood,
My tears turning crimson,
Like the corpses' had been,
Before the rain of ice.
Red tear drops into an endless sea of red.
I am trapped in and exposed cemetery,
A warped battlefield,
Everything is trying to break me.
I am taunted by something invisible,
I'm punished for nothing,
I am just hated.
Why don't I just die?
I look into the mirror,
And run my fingers along the glass,
Leaving trails of burgundy.
All I see is sorrow.
The walls are beginning to crack,
I've never cried so hard,
Though no sound reaches my lips.
Darkness just kissed my cheek.
Twisting designs cover my walls,
The blood evaporating from the white...
They read like an empty letter...
A letter sent from the dead.
Words that carry scars, and pain...
Mortality at its most obvious.
I grab a knife,
The punch it through the walls,
In desperation to erase the morbid words,
Cryptic, yet painfully decipherable.
Out of the walls fall...
...People with wings...
Wings torn and bleeding.
They're all dead.
I fall to the floor in all the blood,
I scream and cry,
Engrossed in the carnage,
In the mortality.
Angels, dead and bound,
Children, bleeding and crying...
The blood rises higher,
Up to my elbows
But I don't care...
I don't care.
Then I hear small voices begin to cry...
In the window is more of the children,
Covered in bloody tears,
Knife marks marring their white skin.
Death has entrapped me.
And there he stands,
In black, somber as this ongoing lullaby.
I lean my head back, and he kisses me.
I have become the mistress of Death.