Blood letting

I open the wound for all to see, my lies spill out in front of me. Why does it taste sickeningly sweet, when it's been festering like rotted meat. I stare at the gapping hole and hope to save my very soul. Pour the acid in my veins, and vanquish all my mortal stains. If the infection doesn't spread and spoil all my daily bread. I pray the Lord my soul to take, but in the end my bed I make. If this cut should bleed me dry, then it is my time to die.