Six brutal stabbings,
All to the chest.
One, two and three caused a lot of suffering,
But I can't feel the rest.

My fingertips are tingling,
My throat parched and sore.
Corresponding with the stab wounds,
A pile of blood lies on the floor.

My skin is bruised and tortured,
My mind it aches with questions.
I would've put on an armour chest,
If I had known your intentions.

The way your fingers so easily intertwined with mine,
I thought that you loved me?
I thought we were fine!?
But then on your lies you choked.