Salvation - 10/04/01

The blade is pressed against his skin,
A pale arm marred by mortal sin.
Crimson stains upon the floor,
Only a prelude for what's in store.
Behind his quiet, passive eyes,
A thousand secrets therein lie.
Truth that burns like acid rain,
Peace achieved through pleasure-pain.
Tortured soul and hellish life,
Salvation found upon a knife.