You’re pretty good, fellow poet, but your poem/work can be more extraordinaire. I can only encourage you to advance your phraseology and terminology. For lack of better way to put it — this poem and some of your other material — comes off somewhat drab, kitsch, and cliché. Sound harsh? I am sorry. I mean well minus the harm.
With that said, no one can ever improve if everyone who comes around praises us all the time, often believing our intellectual property we put forth is perfect or unprecedented.
Below is my revision of your poem the way I think you thought the poem should have sounded, but due to a lock-up in your mind, I think (not saying you did) you felt as if you didn't quite express what you really wanted to get across to viewers. Who am I to say such things? I am a vicarious critic, getting into the minds of authors I believe worthwhile or need support so they can improve.
I arrive(d) at these notions because of the varying line lengths in your stanzas. Much like most art professors would suggest, when there is too much unfilled white space (in this case, between the lines in your stanzas,) fill them with fuller thoughts so each line neatly aligns with others much as possible so they are of even conciseness. The challenge is not to add lackluster filler words to make it work. When you mix three-word lines with eight to ten-word lines in stanzas, it not only comes off aesthetically displeasing, but it also comes off incomplete in thought. That just said is the exception to the rule with the ending line in any stanza. Conclusively, if you're going to start your first line with 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 or 8 words, try to keep the rest of your lines at that length throughout all your stanzas much as possible. In doing so you push your mind further.
However, be careful of line length. Think book. Among other poets, if ever you were to publish some of your lengthy-lined poems in a book, they wouldn't format correctly on the pages because the lines in your stanzas stretch out too far. Narrower text margins challenge your words and ideas. The wider someone’s text margins in his or her word processor, the more they take advantage of the absurd leeway they are given, and the more likely it is their enjambments will cut off if put in a book. Prose and short stories are different in that there are dashes in cut-off words since prose doesn't rely on line breaks.
Anyway, I kept your poem original as possible. You may compare:
Your Body Cried Crimson
by Angela Malzow
Behind graceful words hides a mouth of razor fangs—
I’m deranged, and few know what lurks in my mind,
What untamed, nightmare realms exist for you to find.
I oft picture me kissing your lips while my knife slips
Into your innards and rips away at your trust.
Lined behind the allure of my platinum eyes
Are successions of rows of myself in disguise.
Put-on faces I wear to persuade you are safe
Fools you: you’re alone, the victim I've raped.
Now I steal away your innermost emotions
To place them in the hands of my devotion.
Furled and trapped within my toxic web,
I swallow you while you sink like lead
Into the bottomless abyss of my heart.
The way I love is paroxysmal and violent at best;
I’d love to snatch that petty heart from your chest,
And drink the succulent nectar of your affection.
So curious, your body is subject to my dissection.
Checkmate baby; in this game, only I will win!
My tongue is dripping with your blood and sin:
Drop by drop it spews out your life I have taken
To keep for myself.
Do not; you doubt the savage imagery of my desire(s),
These manifestations likely spawned from the hellfire.
Does it skewer or sicken your guts with acrid distaste?
Can you keep up with my remorseless, careless space?
To clarify and elaborate furthermore, you should know
I love to torment you mercilessly until your light is low,
And when I watch you bleed from your wracked frame,
I am haunted by red splashes passing across my vision
While my hands mechanically make the incision
That will end you.
The glassiness of your eyes searches the skies,
Reflecting all the glaring truths within my lies,
And the faces of those devised: trapped inside
My fingers wrap, crunches follow, ribs divide.
I curl and cuddle into the crimson tide
Your body cried . . .
For me, only for me.
Take from this what you will, learn from this what you may, but it is to my certainty the original version lacks in what it wants to say. It needs more expressive oomph in it to sound lovelier, darker, and terrifying.
P.S. This commentary is already very long, but you are welcome to send me a Note if you would like explanation on why I took out unnecessary words, etc. from the original version of your poem, or why I added words, etc. to the original version of your poem.
Congratulations on your DD. This was fun for me.