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Pain Is My Art...I Work In Blood

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Perfect red lines
lie there on my body
as if they belong.
They cry blood
that stains my skin.
Red and sticky,
it oozes down my legs
making a trail to my ankles.
The air makes it sting
but the pain feels so good.
It looks like an accident
but believe me
it's not

Take the razor blade
slighty press it against the skin and...
-SLICE-
Now watch the blood rise to the surface of the insicion
Carefully wipe away the blood and watch it reappear
Pass your fingers over the cuts
Almost like braile
It's poetry
without writing
It's love
and hatred
and dreams that will never come true
A work of art
that's never quite understood



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scenesoccerqueen said...
Jan. 12, 2012 at 6:06 am:
it's disturbingly beuatiful! this really expresses you, and the minds of others...very nice...through this poem i think others will realize 'cutting' is an art and another escape-just like poetry
 
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