The razor sharp dagger in your hands
doesn't match the look on your face.
I can't name the thought.
All my blood is gone,
so I'm pretty much drained of emotion,
along with everything else.

Even as the blood was spilling out
of the clean cut on my heart
I still smiled at you.
What a joke.

Turn your back,
but I can feel those tears,
see them dripping to the floor,
mixed with blood from your knife.
Oh wait, that's my blood.
But who's crying?

Razor blade romance
left to end the way it shouldn't.
Eventually all clean cuts
fester and burn.
I hate to think what
tomorrow will bring.

I have this scar,
but you're walking away clean.
Lucky you.
If I could do the same, I would,
but somewhere I'm still hoping
for the fairy tale to keep going.
Can I take back the dream
you stole with a knife?