the moon glows,

and my anxiety shines,

so bright,

you could paint,

your reflection,

on the crystal waters,

if you wanted to,

and i fiddle with the knife in my pocket,

because the heart i wore on my sleeve,

is no longer out in the open,

but instead dissected with no emotion,

when i break open,

to wear i used to sleep,

so soundly,

you didn't even have to count sheep,

only to have one of us,

sleeping forever,

drowning in our own blood,

but i've bled enough,

and i've only dreamt,

of you,

dying in my arms.

(after i've killed you.)