3rd of December

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In the icy corners of your room, bathroom door slightly ajar.

The razor glints beckons you.

Your name whispered by the thin steel into the emptiness that is your soul.

Memories of you undressing as I lit myself ablaze; Death came quick as I lay naked on your pyre.

The clutches of sorrow and darkness as familiar as an old lover.

Ravished slowly as the sun bows out; you fall deeper into its loving grasp.

Unable to escape,  you fall into a sleepy death.

The razors sing your name as you sit up.

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