My head was held high at one point in my life, but  now my soul lies deep inside the morgue.  Something never to be truly found how it was created originally. 

The killer is till out there, creeping slowly in to his next victim's heart.  Easing himself in the arteries slowly, and making sure to cause pain. He leaves his victim breathing. Yet she has nothing left except a empty shell of flimsy skin.  Insides now on the outside.  Naked and exposed in-volunatrily.  For the murderer takes your life in it's strongest form. Love.  Such a popular feeling amongst many.  My wish?  To let the others live in glorious ignorance as I once did; yet now as I, one of the victims, drown ever so slowly in the silver tongued words of the stealer.