28 October 2012
The blood it falls, Down my arm. Making red stains, Down past my palm.
The warm liquid, That is now cold. Runs past my fingers, The pathway now old.
It drips off my nails, Landing on the floor. I watch it drip, Then cut another four.
Blood is still flowing, It won't stop at all. It soothes mental wounds, As I watch the pain fall.
The pool on the ground, I know that it's mine. That came from my arm, The same colour as wine.
Red Comfort • Opuss № I