Blood drips from the ceiling of a circle room,
Onto the already crimson floor.
You push it in deeper, this knife of yours,
And the burning pain turns to a numbing cold.
The flesh melts,
The metal searing hot from the fire it was in.
With this same knife you chipped away at my heart with,
Setting it free from the box I've hidden it in for so long.
Letting me feel again.
Which I've longed to do,
Or I did until I was free again.
Then I remembered why I wanted it this way to begin with.
But, this time you see,
You've went to far with that sharp little knife of yours,
Bypassing the box,
Stabbing my heart.
But, hey, I can't complain,
It's what we all wanted right?
Ok, maybe not everyone,
But surely you did.
So you got your wish.
Happy Birthday to you,
I hope that killing me was a good enough present...
That's all I could afford.
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