Weaved darkly within the veins of
the page,
          the ink bleed when
I read you
the last breath before papercutting
                    the last words from your


windpipe...
    
the ink just bleed on the page, smudging
          your last meaningful words.

Sorry I should have really removed
        my hand so you could scream..

But silence is bliss
and I you were a bleeder..
                 I had to wash you off me....

And that was a lot of soap...