THAT PARTICULAR THRILL

Another falls in an endless stream,
a bright colored red from the severed seam.
Drops of my life upon the floor,
filling the room with the reddish gore,
becoming picturesque serene.

The thought hath still that particular thrill,
of crossing to another side.
The thoughts of how were many,
times of thought were plenty.
Let the crimson come to spill,
to have my life take the ride.

A splash of red covers my face,
as I fall to the ground to take my place.
The room is dark , but the lights do not fade.
The room becomes cold while death claims its case,
covering me slowly within a deathly shade.

A moment more I have still,
to cherish the instance of this particular thrill.