Tis Blood thou seeketh?
Thou canst hurt me if thou want it
Burn and break me
Run your nails clean through me
For not even the pity of vultures am I worthy
White skin stings the eyes
But the soft, red, brush loves soothing ache
With cold, steel, serrated lips
I kiss myself so hard

And the picture painted is one of death
Skin-like canvas
Yearns and. beckons
Screaming for repentance

The feeling when flesh parts
Gaping wounds speaking its beauty in riddles
A mute crescendo of spewing blood

Run your nails clean through me
For not even the pity of vultures am i worthy
White skin stings the eyes
But the soft, red, brush loves soothing ache
With cold, steel, serrated lips
I kiss myself so hard

Drenched in surreal pain
And dancing in a liquid veil
A constant spray of fading life
Led by angels dressed as demons
Sweet are their arms to die in
But they carry thorns
Thorns that rapture and release
Behold my art
The flesh takes form