The Void.

My attrition in this war in love.

My forfeit is payed via blood.

Not within,

Beneath this skin is void.

A chasm.

An abyss.

Destroyed.

This very heart that only did

Give pressure to my blood, not hid.

No longer trapped within these veins,

But tapped, 

It spat

And spilled

And stained.

Sour copper saturates the air.

It runs and sticks and mattes the hair.

Despair.

I wonder if they care.

Sing a song or say a prayer.