Torement

Leeching on sympathetic wrists, squirming at the smell of iron tinged blood, pen dripping while wrists fill the barrel. This pendulum swings; time has deceased, stuck in place, upon page, pens bleed, Blades upon flesh, wounds never heal, and pain like this life, remain all to real. Realities of pain agonized past truths, suffering pondered reflections, bleeding my Crimson name, blood is the dynasty, the infamy of fame... exuding my love, this page is drenched and dripping, sorrowful words, upon wrists are ripping. I Writhe in torture as words are carved upon my frame, Suffering are words, self inflicted and not, their both the same.