It's always been an itch so deep within;
I had to scratch hard to reach "it".
I never really got to it though, not until recently.

I always only teased my skin, tasting it's texture;
      the folds, the falls and the risings,
      like great wars I fought with myself;
      there were times when I fell and times when I rose.

I never really wanted to test myself...

I enjoyed the rest it gave my soul when I scratched,
      I lied to myself that it was my way of perpetuating happiness.
      But I wasn't happy, was I?

So I tease my skin.
The sharper side of the blade was always more comforting.

No hand and no love could remind me of times when I didn't need to tease.

So I tease my skin, and I test my skin
and suddenly it splits!
And suddenly the blade tastes my blood;
      a new beginning of a friendship;
      blade and blood be one!
      blade for blood, and blood for pain.