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