In shadows cast by my own hand,
A blade whispers secrets, a weight I withstand.
Each morning dawns with a crimson sigh,
As hope slips away, and I silently cry.
Rivers of red, flow like a twisted stream,
In this fractured body, I shatter the dream.
A canvas of scars, each line tells a tale,
Of battles unseen, where my spirit grows pale.
With every cruel slice, I carve out the pain,
Each drop is a promise, a dark, bitter gain.
Lost in the echoes of frantic despair,
This dance with the darkness, I willingly wear.
Tomorrow's a ghost, just a phantom of light,
The day drips away, swallowed whole by the night.
With jagged precision, I chase the release,
But the blood keeps on flowing, my silent caprice.
I wear my torment like a crown made of thorns,
Each wound a reminder of battles I've worn.
Yet deeper I fall, lost in this abyss,
Haunted by shadows, sealed with a kiss.
In this mind's broken mirror, I seek my reprieve,
As I unravel the threads, twisting tighter, I weave.
But the scars don’t just fade; they deepen their claim,
In this dark, savage cycle, I play a cruel game.
Yet what stands at the end of this merciless plight?
When the daylight breaks in, will I turn from the fight?
Or will I keep bleeding, a canvas of woe,
As day after day, I slip further below?