It's all in her flesh; it's all in her bones

And also in her soft white skin.

Her blood, so red, this darkness gores

Not to feel her, it's a sin.

Advancing towards her, pulling at her soul,

She turns; her skin falls to the ground.

She picks it up, covers in haste

Shocked, her body speaks no sound.

Taking out a knife, holding at her neck

Her bosoms visible under her wasted fabric,

Blood seeps though her skin, dark, as a lake,

She gazes at her nightmare. Murdering.

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Now this one's a different one. notice that I didn't use any I/You/They to specify who's speaking. what I mean to convey is that it's not murder. It's suicide. She is her own nightmare.