mutilation my sensation

 
Hold this,
I spoke, as I placed the knife between her ribs.
Creating rhytmic music from your blood, as on the floor it drips,
like a metronome.
I scalp your head and examine your dome.
It is empty, how sad, it reminds me of my heart.
Or at least the empty cavity,
of where it used to be.

Shut up,
I say, to your muttered whining.
It seems you are slowly dying,
from the pain I inflicted on your chest.
You have minutes to live, at best
and you mustn't ruin my fun.

I am done,
I scream, as the last breath leaves your mutilated corpse.
I feel no remorse for our sudden divorse,
as I never loved you, like in the last few hours.
The chains on the wall becomes the grave in which I burried you, when I mark it with flowers.