I swore as the moonlit porcelain
tumbled silently to the floor.
It turned and twisted and quite briefly
suspends in limbo before
with a crash it is no more.
I cut my wrists on a piece of china
trying to tidy it up, and the paper-thin shard
traveled deeply within,
’til it pierced my beating heart
where it forced the pain to start.
So here I lie while blood pumps red
and gaudy crimson spreads.
I chant, I pray, I wish it were said
that the scarlet turned black in the shadows
until I was just plain dead.