I donating my plasma TV to the Blood Drive.
People don't understandBlood must flow for blood Before it can allow waterBut in the endIt will all turn to ice
This tremble in my handsand the aching in my musclesbut the taste of blood in my mouthcauses me no troubleno defendingjust attackthe taste of bloodthe aftermaththis fight I probably wonbut the taste of bloodlingers on
They can see through the glassOur lips are dripping blood From telling all these liesAnd we both knowThat we've really done it this timeP.H
Never sure which, flows in my veins, think it may be blood, but there's no colour when it spills.~LC~
Fearful of crimson Clouds emulate blood risenUneasy vision
my blood is like honey on bonesit drips down like an ice cream cone
My blood freezes, threaded through my icy veins
your soft bloodsoft whisperssoft skinsoft hairyour soft heartmelting down my ribcagewhat is art?it is soft rage
My hands are red and sticky from trying too hard,I can feel them losing grip around your wrists.Whose blood is it, anyway?Dripping on the concrete,Swirling down the drain,Staining our soles.Is it mine or is it yours?