The Crimson Wind

By the edge of a cliff
staring far to the sea
feeling numb and lost
nothing to care about
while I still feel my fingers
I hold tighter to the knife
opening slowly the arteries
in my wrists and throat
lossing sight and sense
one final graven deed
enthralled as blood is riding
on the cold blowing winds
with shivering words I write
my name in the snow
with the paint from my heart
without pain and suffering