Scars on the wrists of my dead wallflower

So these are mine... the ones i hold dear: scars on your wrist covered but not hidden.
 
 I try my best to stop the bleeding but you scream and reach for Death's hands that happen to be out of reach.  
 
I suppose this is what they meant when they said that being with you would be like bestiality.
 
 At least inside of you i could close my eyes and enjoy a moment of peace pretending that the end was not near.
 
And yet peace is dead still screaming in my ear that you were just another Red one.  
 
Now just another dead one in spirit form haunting my dreams.