Written Confessions

As I lie curled
in the middle of my bed,
I silently weep
at the thoughts in my head.

Damn my foolishness,
curse my stubbornness.
Now I must pay the price.
To myself, I must confess:

It is not just my eyes
that have pigment of scarlet.
From grieving to bleeding,
I create aches to my stomach's pit.

I dug our names,
torn my skin,
but as does the searing pain,
never failing is my grin.

Clouded with blood,
from head to toe,
losing blood fast,
death creeping in slow.

Coughing up blood,
tension in each muscle,
I can't take the pain,
putting a gun to my skull.

I carved your initials
only the bullet inside,
so everyone will know
you were the last thing on my mind.

My body lies limp,
still on top of my bed,
but in my hand a note,
in which it says:

I loved you more than ever.
Why couldn't you just see
that we were meant for each other?
Your future holds only me?

Well, now it's too late.
I've purposely ruined you.
Everything you've done to me,
you'll start to regret very soon.

"What did I do," you ask?
Well, it's very simple to see.
Just analyze my body
and the bullet that lies within me.

The love I have for you
overtook my body,
forcing my hand to clench the weapon
and making eternal rest come to be.

So you're the one that murdered me.
Don't you feel so special?
For my death, I'm sorry to say,
It's not me, but you, who'll have to pay the toll.