Start with his hands
His skin is so pale, almost transparent
A sharp contrast to the scarlet droplets of blood
Dripping wretchedly from the tips of his fingers
Curled upwards to bid the grey sky farewell
I never wanted to leave

Onto his arms
Splayed open as if to welcome the world
And all its black tragedies and woes upon woes
How ironic as to let them in is to die
As she would be among them all
But they said it would be like flying

Then his face
He hadn’t smiled in a while
Not with his eyes, at least
His silver eyes, now grey and evaporated of all life
His chapped lips, weary of the lies that had passed them
Mostly I’m not sorry, but I miss you most terribly
Not finally, his chest
Now a literal empty cavity
Void of a heart but not of love (and not of her knife)
Love for the wrong person
But not enough hate for the right ones
And I loved you all along
Lastly, the girl
Grinning madly at the sight
And leaving blood-stained kisses on his forehead
She takes the knife from his chest presently
And as she joins him her mind numbly echoes
But you were never mine to keep