I think about it day and night,
the feeling of my previous knife,
the smoothest of blades,
darkest of all the shades.
It glides across many skins,
slicing and removing sins,
the most beautiful of any red,
thick liquid it does not hesitate to shed.
Moving through its many partners,
patterns, twisting, a perfect art,
the stunning beauty, perfect trance,
attracting eyes with its graceful dance.
I know that many prefer a gun,
but I think that ruins all the fun,
to feel the ruby liquid flow,
through your fingers nice and slow.
To watch its lover quickly fall,
as it bares its partners all,
hushed up secrets never told,
their used body, not so bold.
Laughter framed within their eyes,
but the face it forever cries,
incisions and manipulations,
broken bodies of many nations.
All left to fight the open air,
never again to be as fair,
as the day that they met me,
or my friend, my dear baby.
The unbearable stench when found,
from those body's tightly bound,
cause most to turn away,
back towards the light of day.
Friends, family, acquaintances mourn,
for what my love has ever shorn,
their life their souls all left in shreds,
lovers return to empty beds.
They all swear to get retribution,
for the killer to regret the execution,
but no evidence is exposed,
my identity only supposed.
To find me and my perfect partner,
their hope grows ever thicker, darker,
they wish they could but I shan't tell,
nor the body's, all is well.