-one sunday morning
March,
bitterly cold
snow falls and
the forceful wind
blows against me
the streets are all empty
a trail of blood
leads to the cottage
fresh still-
I'm ill,
so still,
so empty
so alone
so hurt
I've blown
everything
and the wind blows me
and I still can't see
-I bleed-
but I still don't take heed
-life-
I want to disappear into thin air
I want to forget I was ever here
(on earth)
