Oh cutter of veins,
Thou who parts flesh,
Red are the roses you grow
Let me this night
Be the soil from which you nourish

Deliver into limbs
Your rhythmic slaughter
Tender is the wound,
Shooting trickles through the sky,
And the freezing that follows

Ramming concrete
The snap of wet bone
Protruding it's wrappings
And the sickening delight
Of discovering therein;
There is virtue in mourning

Stab and burn
With slashing vengeance
Like a constant churn
This millstone penance
I loose well if nothing else

I smile not
Life passes by
With giant leaps
In slow motion

Steal not this from me,
Oh beautiful love
Undeserving as I am,
Of your caring affection
Chances are I'll let you all down
The essence of my being