Lonely Self Mutilation

What is this?
This cherry red substance soaking into my carpet?
It's flowing from my wrist, like a river.
No, no. It's the red sea.
Tides and currents
Holding me under its grudge.
Ha, it's almost humor.
How it glides across my flesh.
The way sharp silver cuts,
Knife into a cake, scissors into string.
Razors into my arm.
Watch it bleed bleed bleed.
It's just blood. I have a full supply.
At least that's what I thought before my vision died.
Carried me away.
A seat made out of pain.
If cutting was a jack off.
I just cummed to its beauty.
Orgasmic, they'd say.
Trading this to be sane.
Fucking my arm.

Up.