What is love? Not this, you think,

As you lie on the floor,

You're blood soaking the carpet,

And dripping from the floor.

Not affection,you ponder silently,

Your voice not there,

Probably it's dripping,

Crimson soaking your hair.

Fondness?Nope,definitely not,

That would be weird,

Because hate's written on the walls,

Red liquid,dashed and smeared.

Perhaps it is lust?

That would make sense,

Because you been violated so,

(And the pain had been immense)

But that was okey, you see,

Lechery isn't painless,

Obviously it's not,

Else your room would be stainless.

But ah,well,why worry now?Really,

It's a bit late,

As you close your eyes,slip away,

Thinks,'Obviously fate.