The Suicide

A Glass Figure,
A Porcelain Doll,
Sitting on a shelf;
A Shattered Window,
A Bloody Knife,
Displayed on the floor,
A Ballerina Musicbox,
A Mirror with Missing Pieces,
Sitting on a dresser;
A Little Dollhouse,
A Few Broken Dolls,
Scattered on the floor;
A Little Pink Bed,
A Blind White Stool,
Resting in the corner of the room;
A Drawing Book,
A Sleeping Gun,
Laying on the bed;
A Little Black Book,
A Candle,
Sitting on the stool;

The Musicbox played,
The Porcelain Doll stared,
The Glass Figure watched,
The Little Dollhouse and the Broken Dolls, sat there silently;
The Black Book whispered,
The Sleeping Gun wept,
The Candle sat there, Gloomily shinging as the clock ticked on and on;

The Clock kept ticking,
The Candle kept burning,
The Little Pink Bed stared at the White Stool, and the White Stool stared Blindly into Silence;

Darkness crept in,
The Silence whispered, ringing through their ears;
The Smell of Blood,
The Smell of Death,
Hanging, eerily Haunting the room;

Death clung to the air,
Blood hung to the walls, dripping, dripping to the floor;
A Puddle of Blood,
A Puddle of Death,
Pooling on the floor.

by EmoBabyGurL
posted on 05/17/2008