Like a kitten that has outgrown the thread, I tire from the sight of blood. Once crimson roses have whittled to drab and dreary abortions. I'm running out of places to hide my treasured mistakes. They dissolve acid but burn so delicately. I can never get the smoke out of my clothes. Every method has been done to so many deaths. The Statue of Liberty strangled with scissors embedded in her skull, guts spilled to the cement flooding the street in cyanide. Such a boring sight. I'd long for more but there's nothing left. The world is a bomb ready to detonate and freeze us all.