My heart, life, and soul flow directly to you. My blood is on the floor, the knife in your hand. The words I wish to say are nothing now. Your cries of sorry don’t exist. Anything…NO! Everything you say now means nothing but darkness. Your life continues. Time still flows. Do you still think of me? And when you do is it of us, of what we were, or is it of the blood you spilled and my body on the floor? It’s not your fault and then it is. You’re the one who committed the sin, but I’m the one that nagged you on. I’m the one that brought the nightmare back again.