dear diary, tonight will be our last my hands are itching for razors my angel, this knife shall carve thee wings consumed by sickness, i ache to see your blood the hour approaches when i shall lay a nest inside of you sliced open i lay waste to my desires sweet entrails are scooped onto the tile and in my dreams i hold your head beneath the waves after you've died, i kiss the nape of your porcelain neck you enter me in death's perpetual embrace skin tightens in the throes of lust and in my dreams i cut your mouth from ear to ear dissecting your angelic body in the quiet of your room how splendidly i carve into your tender heart shuddering between the sheets