Suicide

There is much pain in loving you.
An endless torture that encompasses me.
My will is not my own; You over take it.
My common sense is thrown out the door.
I am not my own.
My mind  has runaway from me.
I am mad.
Time does not heal all wounds…..Some just scab over only to be meddled with again.
Unwavering torment.
When will it end?
I am spent.
The Anguish of looking at you repulses me, yet I continue to look in the mirror.
I cannot  recognize what is there; a distorted version of the woman I once knew.
Splatters of red hit the mirror as the blade slices through my wrist.
I smear it with my hand and find the beauty in the pain.
Beauty found too late….I die