I can feel the demon's breath as it claws through my will to live.
Does the color red have to sound so dire?
As I reach for the dagger, the giver of new life,
I see the sounds that I've been hearing with my watering eyes
That wall of detriment, of excrement, of hated things, of love.
The sweet sound of exit is touching my thigh.
The metal is so cold.
"Wait!", it says, "don't you want to feel some more?"
No...
And the liquid flows.
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