Carvings of Sorrow
The blade.
The pain.
The blood.
My wrist.
Slowly and carefully
carving my sorrow and inner-most
anger;
leaving reminders of my pain
on my soft flesh;
watching dark crimson beads blossom on my arms
and flow down my finger tips
numbness of my senses sets in
and my limbs become light as air
blurring vision and vertigo
standing upright, it is no longer possible.
I fall to the floor
as the blood drops begin to pool beside me
the cold floor becomes warm
as my body heat disperses
I know I've gone to deep
yet, the sick sadistic side of me
finds the strength to smirk
and I die there
with the essence of insanity
forever frozen across my face.
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