Blood drips
And spills down my arm.
Lick the crimson spice away...
But if it feels so good,
How come it's not right?

And I have cried,
For the tenth time
In the day.
And again taken the solace of the knife.
To pop the bursting of tears.
To chase the colors'
burning ache away
With red.
It is so good,
Doesn't that make it right?

Even if it so good...
Someone help me make it right.