I want to feel the liquid running
warm and soft upon my arms
feel the sharpness of steel
cutting into flesh like a slaughterhouse...
They'll be no cries for help
no tears – on the outside
that this encrusted world can witness
only my longing, belongings – thronging...
Running steel into flesh
making rivers of nightmares where -
dreams are just a reality of life.
The sharpness justifies my sins
happiness – unhappiness tied together
with each droplet of liquid
there is a past, with each slash
a future yet to appear -
When this feeling is past
the normality regains assurance, and yet-
still deep within the urge beats silently