Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

pale,

white,

cold,

as you lie there,

in a pool of red,

sticky,

thick,

congealed,

what once flowed through your veins,

what once carried the oxygen you needed,

that keep you alive,

until of course,

I slit your throat,

bleed you out,

and I took your life,

I took back,

what was mine.