Dark thoughts of you keep clouding my vision.
I keep imagining that you're dead…
how I wish I could make an incision
and get these disgusting thoughts from my head.
How can you stand to sit here and kiss me
when in the depths of my mind you're bleeding?
I'm so afraid that one day you will see
my own supply of blood depleting
across the pristine floor of our new flat
and I can only imagine the scream
that would tear from your throat as you sat
in a pool of my cooling blood. This theme
of death is really one I ought to forget.
Use your love, and envelop me in your net.