The art of mutilation
Takes practice and control
Don't press too hard at first,
You're not experienced yet
With the nauseating pain.
Slow, even strokes,
Take your time, don't rush.
A novice can trace a pattern,
A master can do much more
Do you see my palm?
Give me a blade,
I can turn it crimson.
Blood can stain,
Mind the sheets or carpet floor.
Lay back, squeeze the razor
Deep into your palm
And let the beauty
Of the still ebbing blood
Wash over you.
Feel the pain
Build up and overtake you
Drown in it,
Lose your breath in the moment
Look down at your cuts,
Your lacerations...
What have you created?
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The Road To Nowhere
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