What do you think this poem is about?

December

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I love the night it hides the tears, the trickling blood I need to shed.
It helps to dull the stinging pain of sunlight. Deep in crimson red,
my weeping wounds are growing, pain is flowing from a scar.
Relief comes as my cheeks grow pale, I knew someday I’d go too far.


You’ll be here in the morning, and I won’t be here to apologize
for all the pain and trouble I’ve left. And only my empty, lightless eyes
will tell the tale of how I cried, of how I fled and I fell from grace.
And though tonight I fear the dark, by dawn death’s peace will fill my face.
 
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