Death of a cold winter.

Winter's dying,
what the heck.
Newborn flowers
for my incoming death.

Lights of the city
can't show me the path.
Slow motion, unhappy days...
reminds me always to the past.

I've got a crown of thorns
My face turning red as my blood runs cold.
Beady eye, I can feel it,
fading to black, dying memories in my mind;

memories bleeding from my throat.
Feels like falling into pieces,
a hole in my chest grows and grows.

May my body rest in suicide beaches.