In the dead of the night when the wind blows through the open window,
the curtain silently rustles.
The unkempt dresser is scattered with odds and ends.
As I bend to pick the white roses
that lay among the broken shards of the vase.
I saw myself in the mirror.
A pale figure with sunken eyes.
The hair lying limp on the shoulder, slightly moved in the breeze.
The cold and peaceful night,
the darkness broken by occasional flicker of the moonlight among the clouds.
Blood trickled out as the soft skin of my finger touched the shiny silica particle.
But it doesn't hurt anymore.
It feels warm and wet.
The darkness slowly sweeping in and engulfing all senses.
