There’s not much going on, just the normal, here’s a poem, it’s called YOU’RE THE ONE TO BLEED My hand is shaking now that you’re finally in my bed I had put an anesthesia shot right through your neck, I take out the scalpel and start cutting what I need And I’ll wait ‘till you stat to bleed. And soon I realize the muscle I’m searching is old, It’s so wore out, rotten and cold, Probably you won’t need to go to the recovery room You are such a dusty body and I’ll have to use my broom. I was hoping to make you a transplant And see if my love machine would beat inside your chest, But you are so robotic, so static, so metallic And I am made of blood and flesh. I wont keep no resentments This is a homemade hospital and you’re on my surgeon chair, You’re sleeping because of your selfishness, The pain you put me through and the tears I shed. So, when I sew you back together You will be so stunned and unable to feel, And when you ask me what has happened I’ll tell you I took out your heart and put a metal shield.