Tis Blood thou seeketh?
Thou canst hurt me if thou want it
Burn and break me
Run your nails clean through me
For not even the pity of vultures am I worthy

White skin stings the eyes
But the soft, red, brush loves soothing ache
With cold, steel, serrated lips
I kiss myself, so hard
In long arching motions

And the picture painted is one of death
Skin-like canvas
Yearns and beckons
Screaming for repentance

The feeling when flesh parts
Gaping wounds speaking its beauty in riddles
A mute crescendo of spewing blood
Unveiling the- true self
Streaming from the heart

Drenched in surreal pain
And dancing in a liquid veil
A constant spray of fading life

Led by angels dressed as demons
Sweet are their arms to die in
But they carry thorns
Thorns that rapture and release

Behold my art
The flesh takes form
With killing detail
And suicidal precision