I ran. 

I heard the knife.

Blood...

everywhere...

I laughed.

Afterall,

I am the killer. 

I was so weak that I couldn't even say 'I love you,' as she pleaded and denied what was happening. 

"I didn't want it to end like this," I kept repeating in my head, "why did it have to end like this?" 

She desperately held my arms as tight as possible as if that would stop the blood from seeping out into the tub. 

The razor laid next to the tub, mocking me in my final moments of life. 

And that is when I realized I was actually dying, there is no tomorrow; there is nothing.

My final memory would always be my mother's crying face, blaming herself, and wishing it were her dying.