In the center of my eye's a small guillotine-
See- if you squint, you can sometimes see the frame.
In my brain’s the morgue, where the warm ones brought,
Sans heads, after the foul deed's done.
Every day, I must kill the ones who want love;
The ones who would have given anything for it.
Their unmarked graves are scattered about-
For those thoughts, unrequited- I must bleed out.
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bleed-out-2/
