Weeping Wrists

Wrists weep, what love I had, every drop, of blood, embraces the other, upon floor, beads of sweet red, form together, apart for only seconds... but the time seems eternal.... Within my own blood, my reflection, crimson, burns as I see what I am, Wrists crying, as eyes weep the same, bleeding from every pore, this blood is no more, I fall into, that In which I humbly, bled for..... once flowing blood, remains stagnant, on the outside... Never again, shall such nectar flow through, these collapsed veins, I so many times, opened, then closed, to finally open them, in one more glorious, heap of desecrated flesh, just for a glimpse, of the blood, I wished I never had.