Isabella

I know this floor, I just cleaned it to a shine
I knew it would make mother happy
The same brand you had used, a sharp edge, clean cut
My satin blood exudes from my pale, white flesh

I cry for help, only to never feel my breath pass my lips
I fear I have gone too far this time
I write your name one last time
on the freshly cleaned floor with my thick, silky cruor

I open an eye, a florescent light fills my vision
I think to myself ," is this heaven?"
but i know it could not be, for suicide is not in his ethics
my parents, the first things i see as my vision sharpens

she is in tears and he comforts her, holding her tightly
I wonder how a "God" could bring me back to this
but again.... Is there a "God" ? ...... is there a "heaven"?
These questions really had no worth to me.......

Im home again, only to be locked in this prison "they" call my room
my bed sits alone in this cell, in this hell hole
Yet, in all this mess.... I think of you
Your face cannot escape my memory, for it has a firm grip

Two doors down from my past, from that room
my blood forms the letters of your name
forever it will be burned into my thoughts
Isabella