We're Dead!
Please don’t stab at my heart anymore,
For it is taking a toll on me. I lie down
In agony, while you clean your butcher knife.
The beating in my chest has fallen for a little while.
While in fact, your beating
Has risen from anxiety.
That knife… oh that knife of pain,
And lust. It is encrusted by rust.
I hear a bell jingling in my ear,
Can it be hallucinations? Insanity
Has formed inside my cranium.
Stop
Stabbing
Stinging
Cutting
Lashing
Burning
Ripping
Thrashing!
…I can’t take it.
What was once a luscious organ
Is now decrepit by your handy-work.
You and your fingers feel the need to squeeze
More salt into the wound.
Amusing smirks,
They form on your face.
You like my pain?
You love my screams?
If I were dead, this girl…
She would be happy
Nervousness is forming in her stomach.
Your nails are dirty and red.
The underneath-delicate-skin has now been soiled
By my blood.
Although I’m sure you don’t mind a bit.
The smell of an oozing tear in my skin,
It warms your cold heart
A few degrees.
Funny,
How you can’t look at me in the eye
While your towel stains red.
The glisten is present,
But somehow guilt is finding it’s way
...Past your eardrum into your soggy-pink room of thoughts.
I smile while you frown.
I see your morbid thoughts
Have come full circle.
Kill…guilt…pain…kill.
Your conscience doesn’t hold for long.
I observe you, my killer,
While the knife turns in your red hands.
The reflection of your face is not silver,
With the dirty weapon.
In fact, the reflection is almost not perceived at all
With the slayer.
My heart is fading still.. fading away.
You finished cleaning your friend,
I see?
Your back to me, final reflection of your face
Is strained.
I watch your hand, shaking, lift the knife
By the soft grip.
It strikes you in places,
That will not survive.
Oozing blood cells,
You gasp in surprise.
Although… suicidal as you may be,
My heart lurches towards you.
What’s left of me is quietly dispersed
Into an unfathomable
Depression.
You fall faster, and I have not yet stopped pulsating blood.
For it is taking a toll on me. I lie down
In agony, while you clean your butcher knife.
The beating in my chest has fallen for a little while.
While in fact, your beating
Has risen from anxiety.
That knife… oh that knife of pain,
And lust. It is encrusted by rust.
I hear a bell jingling in my ear,
Can it be hallucinations? Insanity
Has formed inside my cranium.
Stop
Stabbing
Stinging
Cutting
Lashing
Burning
Ripping
Thrashing!
…I can’t take it.
What was once a luscious organ
Is now decrepit by your handy-work.
You and your fingers feel the need to squeeze
More salt into the wound.
Amusing smirks,
They form on your face.
You like my pain?
You love my screams?
If I were dead, this girl…
She would be happy
Nervousness is forming in her stomach.
Your nails are dirty and red.
The underneath-delicate-skin has now been soiled
By my blood.
Although I’m sure you don’t mind a bit.
The smell of an oozing tear in my skin,
It warms your cold heart
A few degrees.
Funny,
How you can’t look at me in the eye
While your towel stains red.
The glisten is present,
But somehow guilt is finding it’s way
...Past your eardrum into your soggy-pink room of thoughts.
I smile while you frown.
I see your morbid thoughts
Have come full circle.
Kill…guilt…pain…kill.
Your conscience doesn’t hold for long.
I observe you, my killer,
While the knife turns in your red hands.
The reflection of your face is not silver,
With the dirty weapon.
In fact, the reflection is almost not perceived at all
With the slayer.
My heart is fading still.. fading away.
You finished cleaning your friend,
I see?
Your back to me, final reflection of your face
Is strained.
I watch your hand, shaking, lift the knife
By the soft grip.
It strikes you in places,
That will not survive.
Oozing blood cells,
You gasp in surprise.
Although… suicidal as you may be,
My heart lurches towards you.
What’s left of me is quietly dispersed
Into an unfathomable
Depression.
You fall faster, and I have not yet stopped pulsating blood.