You look into my wide eyes
(And feel remorse and pride)
You caress the red smear across my cheek
(Where you wiped my own blood from your knife
And smile with satisfaction
At what you had done)
You take a tack out of your top drawer
(Where you keep blindfolds
And locks all coloured hair in their own little baggy)
You pin my picture on the back of your door
(Where so many others' last moment of life
Is taken in a single realization of death)
You touch your fingers against your lips
(And kiss your fingertips
Much like you kissed mine before you twisted
The knife in my heart)
You walk out of your house and into the sunlight
(Something I will never again experience because of you)
And as you walk by your fenced backyard
Your gaze lingers on the mound of disturbed dirt near the farthest bush
(Where you took that last picture
Before you dropped the first of many piles of dirt upon me)
You walk on to live your life
(While I lay in the ground...
With my own blood smeared on my cheek)