I look down hoping to see
something other than what I already know.
My God will be
oh-so disappointed
if I have actually done it.
Maybe I didn't.
Maybe its just my imagination.

But I feel it.
That
oozy
sticky
runny
warm
thick
trickle
runs down my am in
a beautiful
glossy
flawless
crimson.
I am so ashamed
but yet so relieved.
I feel like relieved is a wrenched thing to say.
It probably is.
But my morals died
the first time
the razor
and my skin
collided.

And as I stand here,
in awe of my art,
I realize that
oh ****
I have left a little pool
on the floor
and oh ****
it might stain.

But I don't want to clean it.

It catches the light in a certain magical way.

Does this make me evil?
Or simply confused?
Maybe my mind is not working
because I'm just in awe
of these
sick and twisted
but revitalizing
cuts.