Death becomes her,
she who bled
until her skin grew pale
and the floor turned red
See, she so loved a man
that she sliced her chest
to give him what rested
beneath her left breast

A trembling finger
dipped in crimson ink
wrote three lonely words
in the kitchen sink
“I love you.” But the words
slowly dripped down the drain
silent in their path,
stripped of their name

She’d offered him her heart,
but he couldn’t do the same
now her heart rests on ice
waiting to be claimed
Her love seems dead forever,
though her body never died
Some call it murder,
others say it’s suicide

she needs a love transfusion
to revive her icy veins
since she numbed her sense of feeling
to block out all the pain
Maybe she’ll find a transplant
and the heart’s noble owner
will be the one to love her
as she loves her organ donor.