Happiness is a Cold Razor

The darkness building up inside,
My mind and flesh are numb.
So cold this shell, in which I dwell,
And so my demons come.
Why can’t I feel no joy, no pain,
My God, I’m dead inside.
I need to end this living death,
My senses have denied.

A sharpened blade on naked flesh,
It rests before the slide.
I take a breath, defy the death,
And let the razor glide.
A line is formed in razor’s wake,
As blood stampedes the slit.
It drips and runs, it stings and stuns,
A recess from the shit.

I feel again, I smile and cry,
I need to go again.
I place the blade back in the slit.
So deep, so strange, Amen!!!
The flesh is warm, the blade is cold,
And so my senses reel.
An alien tip inside my flesh,
There must be more to feel.

I lay back holding hand to wound,
Like a junkie with a fix.
I laugh and cry, I smile and wince,
My brain needs pain for kicks.