I remember staring at my wrist.
To slice or not to slice?
I remember wondering why I'd come back to this deadly addiction when I fell.
It was like I'd been knocked over by a wave of anger and...pain.
I don't exactly remember sticking the razor that deep into my wrist. All I remember is bloody red visions of rotten plums and wilted lollipops.
I remember seeing his face as I felt my life slowing ebbing away into a arterial flow of pain... and a sense of success.
That bitch Death had to take me...now after years of trying...I had to go...right?
I felt my waist length Navy Blue hair soak through with crimson splashes of my memories.
I knew the white rug was turning into a red land of my mapped out veins of existence.
I couldn't help but laugh and laugh...and laugh.
The darkness was taking me...caressing my like a long lost lover I'd abandoned long ago.
Poetry is beautiful when you are trying to sew it into a silken blanket.
Meant to wrap around your soul to warm you to the dead bone.
This razor has become the bane of my existance.
I don't know exactly what made me pay attention to her.
Maybe it was the porcelain skin.
Or the imperfect scars that covered her arms like a pattern of a spiderweb.
She was a black widow...drained of her own venom.
I never really could remember her name.
Then I heard it, "Artemis".
It sounded like something so foreign.
Yet like a luscious wine that was tastefully sloshing down my throat.
Her ruby red lips wanted me to touch the scars.
Just to see how deadly her venom really was.
I remember the mischievous look she shot me.
She'd caught me staring at her web-filled arms.
She gave me that same look and put a single skeletal finger to her lips.
Mimicking a "Shhhh" with her lips.
Her eyes were violet and seemed to have been to hell and back.
She'd shaken hands with the devil.
And had come back victorious.
I remember following her home.
And seeing her bless herself with a single...
Web string of her venomous ways...