Whispers

It's 2 am, and I'm a ghost
Of what I used to be.
A whisper of my former self,
Calls out, meekly, to me.

My blood is wine, and swear to god,
My visions getting blurry.
The walls are melting into gold
And melting in a hurry.

Who am I? I do not know.
My hand is on a drink.
The lukewarm red inside my glass
Is full, full to the brink.

I used to be a good, good girl,
And that's a good old scare.
But scars on wrist and empty words,
Highlight what now is there.

Oh, but I remember
The black blood on white wrist
Who am I? The cuts will tell,
As wrist, my razors kiss.

The drink, the blood, the weather,
All speaks of who I am.
If only I could find myself,
Right now, I'm just a scam.