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Poem

The warm red liquid running
Down my arm is something that
Stays fresh. No matter how hard I try to
Get rid of it,
It just stays there.
Coming back thicker and warmer than before.
The ones who say they love you,
Are the ones who turn the knife on you.
First they say they will help you,
That they understand you.
But you soon learn that they only fear you.

When you feel the warmth drain
From your body,
You then realize
That you were tricked into lowering
Your guard just enough for the knife of deceit
To slip through,
Right into the center of your soft hidden loving heart.

As the lights start to dim,
You hear a voice tell you that you will not
Be given the peace of death.
Instead, you will be forced to suffer
A life of being undead
When you see the light of day,
You realize all the pain your hearts in
Because of the betrayal of your “So
Called” loved ones. 
They turn their backs on you,
As if you have the plague or something.
Once you get over the initial shock
Of being undead,
You soon realize
That all you want is peace.
The only way to be at peace is to banish
Those that made you into the undead
Demon that you are now
As their blood stains your clothes
And skin you soon feel life return
To your reviving body as the last
Drop touches your skin you realize you 
Are no longer undead or dead but you
Are alive again because you
Have righted the wrong that was done
To you

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