I wonder if it is the lucidity of the blood
Flowing freely down the lanky arm
Criss-crossing past the veins
Till the tip of the long yellowing finger nails?
Or is it the takeover by the bright crimson
Of the white of my ghostly pale skin
Till the memory of anything monochrome
Is just a faded image, as if it never were?
Could it be the sound of the blade
As it elegantly swishes past its enemy
Could it be the ecstasy in my heart
At the inevitability of what’s in store?
Could it be happy anticipation
Of the pain that will give me my pleasure
Could it be the pleasure of control
Of inviting death, at one’s own accord?
Could it be this moment, and nothing else
That I had spent my whole life waiting for?
Born perhaps to live, but certainly to die
If the destination is so near, why travel so far?
Defying life, defying all,
I give up my life, in happy delirium
For in pleasure, we seek pain,
And in pain, we find our pleasure.
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