the blood from your heart,
bleeds from an innocent wound
made by a man who tore you to pieces
her life was sound without a beat
music without a rhythm
blues without soul
her life was nothing but a waste of flesh and bones
her blood ran like the water of a fluent stream
her skin, the color of water past the point of purity
her eyes the color of darkness
and her fingers the color of a beautiful rose
razors weren't the enemy
but as oblivious as she seemed
her enemy was the evil rested upon her soul