Our love lays on the floor,
depleted of the essence
of what it once was,
such a beautiful thing
for all the world to see,
this love so obvious,
even to a blind man.
She stands above
this crumpled heap,
with yahoo knife in hand,
as my fresh blood spills,
from her sickness,
this need,
to watch
the blood of innocence
saturate the ground,
as it robs us of this love,
the once most beautiful
to ever be known.
