The Art on Her Wrist

A silver pen in hand. Paper the colour of skin tone Would they understand? As she wrote the paper split open Gorgeous red ink.. The tears came. Blink. Blink. Blink them away but no They won't go.

The tears fall And out comes her soul Each tear bears a piece. And life's slipping away with ease, With the stealth of an assassin Death is just harassin' Her.

But The night is young. Her tongue swells Dehydration threatens She hasn't eaten And she imagines smells Before her eyes picturesque images dance Hallucinations, delusions - Its just an illusion Only what she feels Only that is real.

Did she feel the darkness? As it crept up from behind Or was she already blind? All consuming blackness

Consuming her, gripping her with greedy claws Berating her for her flaws Hands on her head She willed it to stop So she wrote a letter On her skin All she was asking For was for it to stop But its now better.

For her wrist was the paper The pen her blade And her mission is completed Her life is now depleted ......