...


sie sitzt jetzt hier allein und lacht,
als hätte sie in ihrem leben alles falsch gemacht.
es ist ein lachen, dunkel, schwärzer als die nacht, wo ist der engel, der über sie wacht?
sie nimmt die klinge zur hand,
ihre augen voller zorn und wutentbrannt.
ihr hass gegen sich selbst ist viel zu gross,
warum stichst du nicht endlich los?
ihre arme seele tot und verletzt,
noch nie hat sie das leben geschätzt.
endlich hat sie den mut,
auf ihren weissen teppich tropft das blut...

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