Bad blood running through her veins
Paler than the moon at dawn
More drawn than an art gallery
Her wings of silver shards
Slice with every movement
As she flies in on crimson night
A voodoo doll of life, trapped
Stuck inside a razor sharp knife
She struggles to escape and
With each attempt she kills one more
She scatches their wrists
And she loses her temper
Ending another life
Bad blood flows in her
First victim of a selfish suicide
Destined to remain forever
Taking other people
Out of pity?
Or out of remorse?
Resentful that they should live
When she herself has died?
She is the bringer of suicide
She tried for many centuries
To rid herself of the plague
To escape the blade
In which she was smothered
To run through another's blood
Destroying it, making it void
Spoiling it, making the once
Sweet smell of human life
A vile odour which she thrives from
To make somebody recieve a fate such as hers
A fate worse than death
But a fate within death
To be forced to bring death to others
To kill them in her vain attempts to be free
To drive the knife towards their wrists
In her panics
And so she succeeds
And brings another death
Another twisted human
Unable to resist the charm
She inhales the smell of blood
It warms her, it keeps her alive
It drenches her in it's cloak
And so the spirit moves on
Trapped inside her knife
Going to take another life
Bitter, and not yet satisfied
I am the bringer of suicide.

Hmmm....and again....hmmm...