Blood red moon
when the stars stop twinkling out of fear
there is a different air, like holding your
breath way too long, past the point
Crimson streaks of blood are streaming down the bold
crisscrossed striped lines on her wrists and her arms
like a colored waterfall,
past the point of pain.
This was the day, the day she had been waiting for,
to ease her troubled, drug induced life.
Heroin was her hero,
this was the only way she could be free, she knew that.
Blood red moon, outside the window, looking in.
Finally, she was slipping away, she would be successful in death.