Wither

I stopped sleeping after I found the scratch marks on my stomach...  
 
As if something...or someone...was trying to get inside of me...  
 
Who am I trying to fool...I knew it was her...  
 
Those low whispers, that would just echo in the still, and silent air of my bedroom...  
 
Her icy breath on my cheeks...  
 
A couple nights ago, I swear I felt her empty, and lifeless lips on my neck...  
 
She was not the girl I loved, nor an angel from above....she had gone bitter...tainted you could say...  
 
Night after night, the scratches deepened, turning into deep gashes...I frantically woke up one night, realizing that I was choking...on my own blood...  
 
I became feeble and weak as the days passed, my skin clung to my bones, my eyes were dull and littered with bags...  
 
I was breaking...and one night...I snapped...  
 
I went to her grave, under a birch tree...her favorite...  
 
I cried, beating the tombstone violently...  
 
"I'm sorry ok! If I hadn't of been so stupid...if I hadn't of been so drunk...if I hadn't of picked up the gun..."  
 
I felt the familiar, cold hands on my cheeks, and that awfully frigid breath...  
 
And before I joined her in that fiery abyss...she whispered...  
 
"I forgive you my love...for the murder of me...but I will never forgive you...for the murder of our unborn child"...