As I stare at my bloody hand, my stomach stays settled, my eyes don't shed their usual tears, my face still composed.

I swear I can still feel the heart beating.

Medicine could never explain, the possibilities, the madness, the thrill.

Of taking another life.

Of watching someone suffer, seeing the agony and pain register on their face.

The blood still warm,

I take it in both my hands, and squeez, making it burst.

Now blood's everywhere.

A real broken heart, just like mine.

I ripped his heart out of his chest, like he did mine

Now's he's dead, like me on the inside.

Now he'll know misery, I wonder if he learned