The girl who bled. Vol. 4

The tip of the
double edged knife,
looking me the in the eye.
Should I fear it?

The knife,
sharp on both sides,
the boy,
small and fragile.
Can he even wield it?

"I cant" the boy argues.
Arguing with himself.
"I'm hungry" he replies.
"But we love her!"

The boy points the knife,
to his own heart.
"Please help me" the boy cries
"No!" he screams.

I sink,
into my own head.
There is a outstanding icy ink,
covering the past.

I sit for an eternity.
I wake from it,
the boy,
small and frail.

He is laying,
in his red.
Double edged,
sharp knife,
red to the hilt.

It beckons to me.
tells me,
I have done something,
horrible.

I pick it up.
the red is beautiful,
this sharp,
double edged knife.

the sweet whispers,
icy ink,
fade from my heart,
mind.

I see the boy,
smiling to me,
small toothed grin.
I called him,
'brother'

What is a,
'brother'?
Is it dangerous?
The icy ink recedes,
revealing the horrors.

I sit alone.
The boy laying soundly,
in a lake of his red.
the boys name.
I cant remember.

The room around,
its not white,
but a room with a bed,
and desk,
with a little red lamp.

The ink in my head,
burns me.
Images.
I loved this boy.
'Brother'

A whole life,
in my eyes,
I was all this boy had,
we lived in a small room.
This room.

An image of me.
The moment from before.
The boy at my feet.
A double edged knife
in my hands.

The ink whispers:
"You killed him"
Ice now ran over my brain,
paralyzing me,  
leaving only the image.

The ink whispered one,
only one more thing.
One phrase:
"The girl who bled"

I took up the knife.
the boys red smeared on it.
I touched this red,
pointed it to my own heart,
and embed it.


I remember everything,
I was in a hospital,
for the mental.

I was the first,
all the others,
that left,
were the ones who got better.

The red pill,
to ease my madness.
It seemed to work,
so they let me go.

It didn't work,
and I killed my brother,
and myself.
How could I do that to my sweet,
loving brother?


Ink covered my mind,
I smile a red,
sharp toothed grin,
as I began to swim in my own lake,
of red.

I am:
The girl who bled.