The water song plays in the blood-stained bathroom. The once white walls have become an art of unexpressed desire of death. The blade clinks as I drop it on the ceramic sink. I look at the ruptured mirror, or the lost eyes, or the unknown spirit, and I become enthralled at how marvelous dark serenity appears.
I strip my red robe away. The paintings of jagged skies have etched itself on my brown skin. I dip my legs into the cold water and, slowly, I cover my body with its mournful embrace. I close my eyes and drown my soul to live.
And in the water, I weep because even my memories cannot remember me.
WORD COUNT: 115
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