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| image from minutestocountdown.deviantart.com |
You can only fold a paper
seven times they say,
but I must have read your letter
a thousand times a day,
until I finally realized
the ink had dried away.
It bled into my hands
and ate away my soul,
until I cried black
and fell into a hole.
The abyss was vast and deep
the feelings began to creep,
until I remembered why
I chose to let you die.
And as I write the letter
the words they come out pink
for only assassin’s blood
can be used for contract ink.
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