mind-designs

In the cold, crisp, Winter darkness, In the infant snow, She leaves her trace. Her crimson cheeks, Distinct, against her pale skin, Her dark hair, Contrasting, against her pallid face. Her blood red lips, Caressing a blood red apple, While her frail fingers, Flow freely, to the now tainted snow. As the sorrow overwhelms her, Slice, She drips upon the snow, The stainless steel relief, As the knife begins to enter, And blood and tears become one, She is soon to be forgotten, Or cast aside, as just another suicide.