Why do I breathe?
When life is not in me.
Why does my heart beat,
When it was torn apart so long ago.
My blood still flows within my veins,
Like a sweet red wine.
Her blood does course too,
A cure for the poison within the wine I drank from her grasp.
The Arsenic dries my heart,
It feels as if it turns to dust.
So long ago, I did feel for her,
But those emotions died as I wrenched Cupid's arrow from my throat.
They bled out with the Red wine in my veins.
And I feel no more.