Lacrimosa

Weeping under the shade of a willow, Crimson tears stream down a mournful face, They fall upon the paleness that is flesh, Under this full moon, lies the corpse Crimson, I lie in the uncut grass, with bloodied cuts lain upon my wrists, I whisper to the air, letting it know of what I have become, letting something know, even if nothing cares. In the distance percieved by my mind, I hear shadows wail, They mourn their once beloved friend, Yet know not of what is to be mourned, These tears fade into the softness of a fantasy, I will never let such demons leak into my reality.