Red

A river pure as oil, a soul as clean as dirt.

Crimson with sin, and thick with guilt.

A guilt so cruel and so very cold.

Cold as the prods of the devils of man.

Devils that taint the river with Ether.

Ether that twist and calms, Ether that burns and hates.

Hate so red, pain so fed, only soothed by knife's caress.

Caress's that tear layer by layer, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Not the silence of night.

Not the silence of spite.

A silence that hangs.

Suspended by rope.

Author's Note

Based on a friend of mine, has a mental illness, not so good doctors. I would appreciate reviews!