((Warning, this poem may not be for the faint of heart. This belongs utterly to me. Please do not archive without permission))

Sang

By Deathswings

White light.

Your knife slides across my wrists.
You watch my blood slip silently to the floor.
Clinical. Detached.
Take notes. You'll need them for future reference.
Open me up.
Dissect me with your cold, steel scalpel.
My soul into pieces
Under a microscope.
The saw rubs against my chest, cleaves flesh and ribcage.
Expose my heart.
Snip the arteries. Hold it up.
Take notes. You'll need them for later.
You peel off your gloves, throw them in the compactor.
My heart follows.
You flip the switch.
Inferno.
You change into your street clothes.
All clean now.
You spare me a final glance,
"You're the one to blame. You're evil. I only did what I had to do."
Unsullied by my death, you go play with my friends.
Cauterized from your life, I lie in the forgotten morgue of your mind.

But I don't die!

Smiling softly, I raise myself.
Tears mix with the dried pigment on my face,
Scarlet paint trails down, drips off my chin.
I look down at the sanguine mess upon the floor.
My lips part uselessly, my throat calmly sliced away.
Sans voice, sans song, sans laugh, sans scream,
I write my final message in my own gore.
-I love you. I love you forever.-