poems from the past {#4}
An attempt to explain my need for self-harm:
Rapture
A solitary tear finds its way across my cheek.
Instinctively the blade begins
to pierce, tear, cut my skin.
As the first quivering droplets begin to form,
I feel a caressing comfort.
Soon a cold stream draws a crimson trail
down the length of my arm.
Gorgeous rubies drip from my fingertips.
I lust for its innocently sinful redness
(the birthplace of roses)
And my life’s blood drains as
my pain is soothed…
Eventually subsided…
With only damp eyelashes and
smears of cleanliness left in its wake.
I thought you rocked. Not for that, but just all around. Always wanted to be as cool as you, dude.
Comment by Megan — October 12, 2006 @ October 12, 2006 at 8:01 pm