Bloodied blades dig into my wrists,
Glinting silver, like bracelets embedded into the veins,
Blood sparkles as it dries on the surface of the table,
Like tarnished rubies in scabbed crystallization.
Angels with clipped wings and bruised hearts,
Watch over me with vague disgust,
Spitting their venom into my reddened eyes,
Digging their talons into my rotting soul.
I take note of my hours of torture,
I stick myself with needles to turn my emotion to stone,
The ink dries, stops glistening on the page,
My stream of thought runs dry,
Polluted by suicidal boredom.
The venomous angels tear and burn every page,
The ink smears like blood across glass,
Stone statues that my soul, emotions have become,
Splinter in the light of this final day.