You lick your cherry lips,
The liquid washing over your teeth,
You smell a fresh scent on your wrist,
The fresh scent of life,
It overwhemls your soul,
And your instinct takes over,
You cannot fight it,
Nor control it,
Just one drop,
You say,
One drop will do no harm,
Then no more,
But the raindrop is so alive,
So fresh,
You cannot resist,
Only two drops,
That's it,
I will stop after two,
You grab the knife from your ankle,
You hear it scrape against the skin,
Your impulses have taken over,
The crimson rain is so alive,
I cannot bare to let it go to waste,
You say,
You dig deeper,
Until you hear another scrape,
A scrape like fingernails on a chalkboard,
Such a peircing sound,
You want it to stop,
But your instinct is too strong,
Now you have totally lost control,
You have let your impulses control you,
You release the knife from the flesh,
Look at the dark crimson mess you have made,
The river flowing down your arm,
The stream of liquid on the knife,
You feel the steel against your tongue,
Dark red mixed in with the crimson,
You taste the sweetness of life. |
