Blade against my wrist,
towel in my hand,
teeth on my lip,
whoops it slipped,
trickles of blood,
air hits the cut,
sting of pleasure,
sounds of drops blend together,
watching the blood,
at the bottom forms a puddle,
when the relief leaves,
i create another,
three is my limit,
all in a strait line,
in different places,
a form of art,
the only thing that is all mine,
reminders of sorrow,
reminders of pain,
reminders of lost love,
then again that\'s all the same,
i let the blood finish draining,
make sure it stopped,
clean up the floor,
again tomorrow i resume my painting
