My Blood Drip Museum

It’s almost 4 am,
the moon has disappeared,
silently I sleep,
for most my blood was smeared,

the knife I had used,
lay uselessly to my side,
there are writings on the walls,
in blood yet to be dried,

cold blood writes my history,
as it does my future,
alone in the darkness,
all color a blur,

my family and friends,
will stand without remorse,
for it was their will,
that set me upon this course,

visit my blood drip museum,
look at the displays,
starting with my dead body,
under the morning haze...