<poem> title: <blant regret>

A faint memory fills my head

in the stance i stood,

soul in hand, crimson red

motionless mind of what i've just done

a stab in the artery 

was supposed to be fun,

for me, atleast.

what is this?

what have i done?

 much emotion,

 yet no regret of who i've become;

my palms like a saw,

trembling in oversensation

 somehow gladly still to have followed;

my adored motivation.

  As my curious mind embeds the tips of fingers 

shallow under your skin,

i can feel the painful joy

to relive my only sin,

as your eyes take one last sight,

my stain body over your own,

i take my darling into embrace,

admiring every dainty bone. 

Yet, I can't stand the pain

that drifts apart the pleasure

the utter realisation,

of losing such a treasure,

like yourself.

 Therefore, to die by your side is such a heavanly way to die;

when our veins mutually loose contact

 and as we move from on the life we lived,

you'd become nothing but a bleak memory

once in reality;

now, as our hands interlock in our final state,

of  infinite purogatory.