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
