Jun 2015
How beautiful is the sunset
Like the blood that drips down my wrists
Every
Night
Like the great painter has
Decided to paint the sky
The same color as life
How ironic that so many die at night.
How ironic that I never knew blood was so beautiful
Until it dripped from my veins.
Like the blood that drips down my wrists
Every
Night
Like the great painter has
Decided to paint the sky
The same color as life
How ironic that so many die at night.
How ironic that I never knew blood was so beautiful
Until it dripped from my veins.
I thought of this just now. Thinking of writing a book about this? "The Ramblings of a Depressed Psychopath" kinda had a ring to it, no? ;)
