Blank Canvas

Labeled a sickness as liquid spills forth
Emptying pain as a matter of course
Thankfully blinding the soul that had seen
All too much, thus for loss was keen
Fault is found in the use of a blade
To carve away that which was made
Into a means of torture provoked by despair
Of an ignorant mind seemingly unaware
Providing the tiny droplets of red
Draining the hope that is to be bled
Healing wounds that can't be viewed
Disguising massive internal feud
Creating a new falsified reality
Fueled by the imminent brutality
Of wanting so badly to become whole
From the broken pieces of a shattered soul
Welcoming all attempts to relieve
The anxious sorrow to be believed
Immersed in shadow glides the knife
Guiding the trickling crimson life
Swallowing the wasted prayer
Whispered by the remnant of care
Seeping illness reaches the dark
Running deep to leave such a mark
Drowning a soul with potential to be
Strong, unmarred, and willingly free
But fear prevents awakening the mind
Containing the will to seek for and find
A different escape, A varied release
From the arm so effectively creased
Allowing the flow of bloody grief
When hurt remains the only thief
For metal can't steal what's already been lost
Remaining to be seen is the ultimate cost
A blank canvas awaits the barely sane
To create a masterpiece of pulsing veins