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Traintracks
August 12, 2010
The marks of the blade;
Traintracks running up my arms.
Never do they sting.
During confused times
I rely on makeshift tools.
Desperate to break through.
Pain comes afterward,
Brought on by agitation.
Still the blood runs blind.
Will I feel the guilt?
Will the rush amount to pain?
For now, still I carve.
Carving through the f l e s h ,
The red [ satin ] stains the silk.
Stitches cannot mend.
Pain is none but joy,
Warm pleasure at its finest
Tingling my skin.
© Sherell B., Philadelphia, PA
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This article has 1 comment.
Annmarie11_12_13 ELITE said...
on Sep. 1 2011 at 8:26 pm
this is wonderful...so deep and so accurate. Sometimes pain can be the best inspiration.
