To the girl,
The dying soldier,
The paper rose,
The words i told her,
Singed her hair,
Frayed her being,
Slashed her eyes,
Stopped her seeing,
Showed her the world,
In a whole new dark,
Her pretty pink razor,
On her wrist made my mark,
As i sit here thinking,
Of the damage i cant mend,
I hate myself, and dread the day,
I bury my best friend.