Lying In A Tub Full Of Blood

Lying in a tub full of blood, I stare up at the Goth-like ceiling.

Taking a hand full of broken glass and clenching them tightly.

The glass cuts through my hands and blood drips down.

Lying in a tub full of blood, I thought to myself,

Was it wrong that I did it in the past and now?

Was it wrong that I have a passion for it?

Was it wrong that I love the feel of bloody humans?

With the glass still in my hands, I drop them into the tub.

Splashing the bloody water with my body, I let the glass cut my skin.

Not a scream, not a shudder, not a whisper.

Only the sound of my thoughts and the blood.

Is it wrong that I love the feel of sharp items?

Is it wrong that I love bathing in blood?

Is it wrong that I love the taste of a victim’s blood?

Lying in a tub full of blood, I go down deep until I drown.

Author's Note

This is NOT a depression poetry, I was being dark and weird.