My blood

Blue veins secreting crimson blood,

A secret stash of suicide liquid,

All the scars sealed over in scabs,

Or glossy, shiny, un-camoflagued new flesh,

Ready to be torn apart once more,

By pin or blade or tooth or claw,

Until the blood merges to crust once more,

Then we slice into it once more,

And the temporary suicide becomes permanent.

The End

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