A Poem about Cutting

Originally written: ???

How I do miss that sweet, cold steel

The pain that tasted of frostbite and vodka

and faded into red wine and chocolate as it swelled.

in childhood you were the paint brush of my flesh

or a scarlet suggestion of fleeting mortality

you grew, as I did, to liberate the poison of my despair

when last we met,

in medicinal carnage,

you became and intervention

to the violence of betrayal.

Never again will your unbiased blade taste my blood.

a new addiction has replaced my dependency.

and yet do I long for you in the loneliness

of solitary nights.

Addendum: I have no idea when I wrote this, it has no title, i found it scrawled on a piece of paper in a stack of old stuff. I rather like it though.

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