The Beautiful Blade

You are beautiful. Truly beautiful beyond measure.
You embrace the coils of crude matter I dare call skin
and I allow you morbid leisure to do with it as you did
last night’s dinner, the carcass you so lovingly caressed.

Could you do that to me?
And cow the nocturnal shadows,
and bid them stand tall in the light of day?
Then I could understand

why I seek to tear the sinew from my arms,
cast my brain to stone, to defenestrate my soul
through those tinted lens I call eyes.
Banish them, crush them, burn them
beneath a minded blaze of unbridled agony
that works. That lives. For as long as I
Walk, Wander, Beg, Beseech, and Bow
before the world that knows me best.
Where my bloody- beaded wrists find
accord with the world that brought them to be.

Sacred blade. Holy Blade. Beautiful Blade.
Find comfort in the hands of one who intends no harm
but who seeks reprieve for those grave mental misdeeds.

I crave punishment. Cut Deep. And make me scream.
Bring me the agony I’m bade repress for temperance sake.
May my minded tears mingle with the beaded tears upon
Mm wearied wrist.

For I am tired. Oh, so tired.