My Beautiful Crimson Release

I lie here. Broken and dying. Possibly already dead. Blood trickles
down my mountain. The quiver in my ears matching the hypnotic movement
that is my heart. This matched his ambiguous pulse. I want to take him
in me, let him pervade and pervert my mind, body and soul. Instead of
taking him in though, I push out. I expel it all form my body with a
singlular scrape across skin. It comes... My Beautiful Crimson Release.
Continually being purged without ever being replenished leaves me cold
and stiff. The dimness casts over my eyes as the sun gives a farewell
kiss to my soul... Relishing in the darkness, it acts as a
psuedo-salvation. Finding the razor is more difficult in the charcoal
bleakness I inhabit... This is a beautiful death. It acts as the one
proof that I was once alive. If never alive, death is impossible,
correct? So, my death acts as a reminder that I did once have life,
regardless of how vapid it was... It Was.