Murder

Blood dipped fingertips...
Crimson died nails
Artificial blood
In a bottle
No match for
The stains of
Her crime
She looks from
Her wrist to
his fist,
he's laying limp
Who knew
The razor he made
her turn to she would use
to justify her pain
he had made her
bleed for the
last time
now that he's gone
she'll be fine.