My breaths are short and hollow;
my sight is fading, more
with every second, with every movement.

The silence is broken in rhythm,
with each drop splashing,
with each gasp for air.

The crimson creek beneath causes me to swoon
as it drowns me in its hue, with
each bloody tear I give.

The blade beside me glimmers in light,
and the stains seem to sparkle;
so beautiful, yet so fatal.

My final seconds ticking;
but not so ready to let go
while my final question lingers:

Am I pretty enough now?
 
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