Just stab me in the heart for christ's sake!
Laugh while the blood curdles,
and watch it settle in the grooves of our hardwood floor.
Like scarlet veins against an old oak skin.
But you wouldn't like that.
Messes never were your thing,
So you'll hope it washes away.
But maybe it might stain.
God I hope it stains!
I hope it sticks to your skin,
like dry sweat and pool chlorine.
And I’ll let you sit there, gooey and regretful,
in the syrupy ichor of my punctured heart.
Then I'll laugh.
I'll just laugh,
and laugh,
and laugh.
Because you made a mess you couldn't clean up.
And that annoys the **** out of you.