My blood red painting

a picture,
painted in the deepest red,

the canvas is my wrists,

the paint my blood, dark red,

my paintbrush is a razor blade,

that is my tool of choice

the dripping blood comforts me,

it clears my inner thoughts,

the cuts they calm my demons,

they save me from dispair,

you wonder why I hurt myself,

you say it makes no sense,

you tell me it will kill me,

but my dear you are quite wrong,

in fact it's quite the opposite,

so please let me go on,

for without my painful artwork,

carved deep into my skin,

I would try to take my on life,

without hesitating.