So lovely does it stretch before,
Such pain it leaves behind,
To cut oneself more and more,
To satisfy pain sublime,

Delving deeper upon a whim,
To choke the strands of life,
To get at the breath within,
And twist it 'round a knife,

Blood-stained love ever rotting,
So to wither with age,
The steel never will be forgotten,
Only tinted with red rage,

Sorrow is fleeting, but never leaving,
Much as death, but without grieving.
 
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