Blood

Warm, sweet, dark, and all over.
I see it on my hand, running through my fingers.
I see it on the razor I’m holding.
People wonder what’s wrong with me,
I say blood is my best friend.
Blood and pain are all I care about.
I feel it flowing through my body.
The fresh cut starts to bleed.
With every pulse, the blood spurts from the cut.
It’s running down my arm, staining my clothes.
There are stains all over my floor, on my knife, and on my razor.
The stains from the blood are as dark as the blood on my arms.
It feels good against my body.
The blood calls to me, beckoning me to telling me to let it out.
I let it out and it covers me.
It puts me in a warm embrace.
I invite the blood.
The warm, sweet, dark blood.