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Crying on Reflections

I look in the water, where its blackness pulls me down. My fingers are cold, my face shows no emotion. Almost hollow, I do not speak. In the water, where the ripples hide, I see my body, floating on the surface with a ghostly white reflection, and reddened water swallows my tears, and slowly drowns me under. I cry, where my tears trickle in the water, where the ripples finally show. My tears look white in this black water. My cold, white, lifeless fingers skim the surface of the black water, as a burning sensation travels from my fingers, to my mind, to the deepest of my gut, down to my toes, and back to the water, where blood begins to trickle from my fingers, polluting the black water. A tear catches in my throat where I begin to suffocate and whimper for my last breath. I open my eyes and am swallowed by a falling sensation. I can’t see, I can’t feel. All I hear are the sounds of the dead, and the lost crying to me, hiding the corners with the shadows, wanting me. Pulling me down. My heart screams to them but I’m not heard, it’s like I’ve been blocked from socialization, blocked from the willingness to help. I can’t breathe. I’ve stopped falling. Where am I? I open my eyes, everything is white. My heart skips a beat as I feel no ground beneath me. I look down and notice nothing but fog, on what looks like a mirror, reflecting everything there is…Except for me. I’m not seen in the mirror. But I’m heard, everything I say. When I scream to the helpless. Is echoed through the mask on the floor. My breathing comes in small gasps, my fingers begin to tremble. I don’t know where I am. I look up at the sky, all but one shade of a hellish tinted gray. It begins to rain; black, quiet raindrops stain my ghost white skin. My eyes begin to bleed tears, my once beautiful face, is ruined, faulted by crimson blood, and black rain. I miss a step. My heart skips another beat, my breathing stops. I hope I didn’t fall. I don’t feel like I’ve fallen. I look beyond the fog that lingers on the ground. I look beyond the thick black rain, and I see a rose. A single white rose. Calling to me in a gentle harmonic voice. What does it want? I have to find out. I walk on. Watching my steps in fear of falling. I feel hollow, like my mind is controlling a body that doesn’t belong to me. Maybe it is? I feel cold, like I’m in isolation. My fingers begin to frost over. My eyes begin to ice shut. Oh it hurts. Its cold, I know it is. I can see it. I don’t feel that it’s cold though. All I feel is hollow and alone…The rose, begins to wither. No. I have to reach it before it dies. It can’t die. I have to have it for my own! It can’t die…I fall to the reflections and begin to weep. I hold my head in my hands, my frosty fingers numbing my face. My hair, as if a blanket, covers my shoulders, making a dome around my face. I cry. Shallow whimpers. Silent gasps. I cry. My tears are white this time. I’m confused. Why am I crying? I don’t remember. My hair, forming ice cycles on end, stuck frozen to my cheeks. The rain, turns red…crimson red. I’ve seen this redness before. It smells familiar. It smells like my own blood, the blood that lacks iron, the blood that’s poisoness…No. I can’t breathe. I suffocate. Frozen, unable to move, I suffocate. My breathing, clogged by my blood that rains from the sky. Or I think it’s the sky. Maybe I’m upside down? Maybe I’m just dreaming and will wake up, crying in bed, wide-eyed, starring at my roses on the wall. No…it’s too real. I’m dying. I can’t breathe. Really. Help me. Please. You have to help me. My blood begins to thicken, as I hold my last breath, maybe I can hold it long enough until I wake up, or maybe I’ll wake up in bed, dead, lifeless, but yet, alive, and comforted. No…it’s too real. The ice on my face, on my fingers, the frost on my dress, is stained by the reddened blood, as I wither away, watching the rose…It’s different. The rose…it’s in full bloom…its gorgeous. Wait. The more I hurt, the colder I get…the longer I hold my breath…the whiter it gets, the more passionate it looks, and the more wondrous it feels. A beautiful white aura begins to glow around the rose, adding a finishing touch…as the ice that’s now grown on my body, begins to crack; the cracks begin to cry blood, my black blood, my special blood. The blood that means my immortal. The blood that makes me live forever. My blood. No. The rose, begins to sparkle with beaut. As the ice breaks…the blood spills…as I slowly drift and die…
…letting go of my last breath.

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