Sunday greets us sweetly and the bottle has run dry. 
This is the last time that I will let you in. 
Chloroform graces the ever-popular photograph, brimming 
with aspersions. But the lights have all burned out 
tonight to honor your greatest achievement: stabbing me 
so softly I mistake it for your perfect entrance. Hang 
yourself from my limbs; I would love to see you try to 
face me. Gaze through me on your way down. I can see 
your madness painted on the reddened sky. With a simple 
flick of the wrist, your promises were defiled. This 
empty picture has been distorted by the rivers from my 
eyes. I never want to hear your face again. Another 
lie. Losing everything through your mistakes, but it's 
worth it. I adore you. Changing faces taint our canvas 
with somatic lies. I abhor you. Brace yourself, for 
when you threw away all of those things you said, I 
died, but not in your arms as I had hoped to. Face 
yourself, how long will it take to speak of love again 
to me, a thing I never knew before I loved you. My 
beautiful virus. And I can't see what I've done to 
drive you to this desecration of our so-called passion, 
of our so-called love. So where are your plush seraphim 
when you need them? And what's the point of love if it 
doesn't last forever? THE BLOOD -- IS FOR -- YOU. I am 
giving up on this, but I can't give up on you. THE 
BLOOD IS FOR YOU. Light a candle for a kiss cast aside. 
This train will go all night so I'll go along for the 
ride. Now I get my wings in this darkness, oh, my 
beautiful virus. And I will fly away from you, oh, my 
beautiful virus. And I will cry these tears upon the 
earth, oh, my beautiful virus. Hoping we'll meet 
somewhere between death and you. Your serrated words, 
which carry no longer a message of love, tear into my 
heart in the same way you did when we met. One last 
whisper, left softly under your door: I love you and 
farewell.