I slit my wrists open, and started writing in blood on the ice encasing her heart. While thinking that, this time, if I failed to melt the ice – If I ended up dying of blood loss – I’ll die kissing the pool of my own blood, next to her poetry adorned frozen heart, with a smile decorating my face;
Happily killing myself with words.
This is definitely not an ill-wish towards myself.
It’s just, I remember you said my words touched your heart.
Your frozen heart.
I’ll keep bleeding words until I finally succeed warming your heart;
Until my veins run dry.