Death has such a beautiful color.
The intricate process of replacing vitality with decay stains everything it touches.
The chill wind whispers it's morbid curse of fatality.
Inevitable fate was forged by a crimson signature.

After years of torment, I mentally killed you.
On the brink of madness, every shred of you was murdered.
You were a fatal cancer eating away my sanity.
**** Or Be Killed.
The impulsive crime was sloppy and careless.
In a blood-thirst frenzy, I dug a shallow grave.
I buried you in the archives of my memory.
The hasty job was bound to be rediscovered.
Thoughtlessly, I allowed the windows of my soul to flood.
My thoughts and emotions became muddled.
Your remnants slid to the surface.
Seeing what I had done, I began to stagger.
I will never escape you;
Not until I, myself, am six feet under.

Centuries have past. My callused heart can vaguely recollect your precious face. It would be a lie if I said that I struggle through the days anymore; I've adapted. I attempted to condition my body to not ache for you. Instead, my body merely accustomed itself to loneliness. It's only when waking up from a familiar dream, my defenses weaken, and through a daze, I realize just how much I miss you.