Butt on the floor.
Back to the door.
Effectively shutting herself in.
Hands closed around prize.
Mouth panting in anticipation.
Whispered words promising.
Fingers mapping out the perfect path
Desires clash.
One of pain.
One of pleasure.
Blade to flesh
She begins.
A tiny prick but then it drags out.
Bringing art with it.
A Masterpeice.
She hated it.
In the morning she’d realize.
She always did.
But for now it was enough
The sight alone was worth it.
The red standing out.
Blood making blueprints parallel to the ones she already made.
Noone ever noticed.
They would sooner or later.
But the damage was already done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
excellent title....you've painted an intense image here for anyone who reads it...great write.