I hold my hand out,
into the cold night air.
My blood deathly thin,
my skin ghostly fair.

I can not see a thing,
here in front of me.
No stars, or clouds,
or land, or sea.

am i an angel?
or am i a ghost?
Maybe i am not dead,
but surely I'm close.

This scarlet puddle i lie in,
is slowly getting cold.
I am just seconds away from the end,
at 18 years old.