Crimson Tears

As I sit and stare in wonder,
At the blade upon my bed,
My mind seems unable to wander,
In anticipation of my bloodshed.

As I push ice cold steel,
Through soft warm flesh,
My soul seems to heal,
When my blade and skin mesh.

Torrents come pouring forth,
When my skin is pushed aside.
Crimson tears on their violent course;
My soul cries for release, yet I abide.

My crimson tears may seem mundane,
Sadly it is all that keeps me sane.

-This poem is copyrighted by poetry.com