The blood on my hands should feel cold,
they can't see it, but I do. Every time
I look down. Covered in deep red. I've
never seen anything like it. I held your
Heart in my hands. Your bare heart, vain
straining to push blood that were no longer
connected to. It's beautiful and surreal.

The street continues as I take steps hearing
the clanking of my heels. Stilettos on a cement
sidewalk in the heart of winter. This is the life
I now live since I've killed you. An established
women in the higher ups. They first saw me as the
sad broken hearted girl who they were giving
a break. It was only a broken heart. You were the bastard who lost.