self mutilation

It glints it gleams,
a metallic silver wedge,
light highlights the weapons
razor blade edge

It overwhelms it incumbers,
carrying the burden called life.
Is it better to be free
by implementing the knife?

It sharpens it hones,
that fatal blade of strife.
with no other option it's used,
becoming the antithesis of life.

It slashed it strikes
sharp edges slice the smitten.
Internal suffering has revealed itself,
opening wounds to mirror the hidden.

It drips it trickles,
a meandering path it weaves.
That scarlet liquid,
a threatening disease.

It soils it stains,
spurting forth from wet flesh.
Wandering down the wrist onto carpet
forming a maroon mesh.

It forms it flows,
wet salty tears intermingle.
webs of pain it weaves,
and eyes begin to tingle.

It remorse's it regrets,
fog consumes the brain.
The thread of life slips
forgotten is the mundane

It calls it cries,
supplication is sought.
Hands reach out for help
none are caught.

It block it obscures,
but the desire is there.
wanting to breath begging to live,
but is anyone there to care?