Love is the blood that courses,
trembling
through our veins

Softly rustling past our heart,
caressing,
gentle and swift

Pooling on the pink of
our tongue,
metallic and sweet

It quenches thirst in such
a beautifully
grotesque manner

Stark red, dark as pain
across
snowy, startled flesh

Dripping, spurting, how it
longs
for wounds

It stains our skin, so wet, so cold,
unremovable
no matter how gone

Wound after wound, the flashing blade
we hold
why do we do this?

Why do we let the blood run
out
forever, lost?

Why let it rain so hopelessly
hard
with scarlet petals?

And the blood does run
does run
scorching, beautiful red

Why can't we stop the flow
stop
the stream of remorse

Because blood is never gone
until
it's gone.