Swan Song

Vague saddened thoughts tiptoe
Through the hazy depression of my mind,
And I haven't the energy to construe them
Or identify what's giving me the urge to

Standing here unable to cry,
I substitute my tears with blood,
Teasing it right out of
The virgin flesh of my hips
(I heard once that you can't live if you don't bleed
And oh, how I live).

I romance the pain,
Loving these razorblade kisses
(My only love affair).
The tired beats of my heart
Sing a tragic refrain
And these crimson ribbons
Dancing, twirling, spinning
Down my legs
Make me feel pretty
(I always did look good in red).

The smoky shadows of my eyes are
Hiding secrets that I'll never tell,
But they're written so plainly
If anyone ever cared to look:

The blood on my fingers
Tastes like masochism at its best
And I remind myself to
Carve all the things I can't have
Where no one else can see them;
Little aching, biting reminders of all my failures,
All the things I want but will never have because,
Well, I'm just not good enough.

And soon all I see is red.
And something about the metallic smell of my own blood
Unleashes all the tears I couldn't cry before,
And I sob silently in the dark
Knowing that I'm tired of crying alone.