Crimson Torridity

by nesdil

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Sitting in the dark,
reflecting on my actions,
wondering why I can’t seem to stop this ritual,
why each time the sharp point penetrates my skin,
I feel an unbelievable sense of release.
Old scars are torn open,
deluging my arm with a fresh wave of crimson torridity.
I am almost content,
the blade slowing its uneven path across my skin,
but no, a new array of emotions is bursting forth,
unable to be destroyed by only mental willpower.

Fierce rage, exploding anger, torturing confusion,
slashing once, twice, three times into my skin,
pale and thin from self-inflicted starvation.
Each gash exudes copious amounts of my diminishing life,
abating my existence to a nearly lifeless state.
This ritual itself shows my weak, frail mind,
unable to deal with internal pain.
As long as this agony remains,
as long as my mind remains fragile,
it continues.

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Comments

Average Reader Rating: 5.0 stars out of 5

  1. Crimson Torridity

    thebetweenspace's Buddy Icon thebetweenspace

    Posted 5 months ago

    Dark and haunting stuff. Very intense and emotional.

  2. Crimson Torridity

    Korirei's Buddy Icon Korirei

    Posted 5 months ago

    Quite interesting, although I do not have a taste for you writing poems about cutting yourself, or any other self infliction. However, I am impressed by the fluidness of your most recent work, and the vocabulary has improved sufficiently. You even used a word I didn’t know, and you know me. Great job, darling.

    Love Micheal.

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