Mutilate. 

No longer tearing wrists apart / 

Placed a stop to decorating upper thighs / 

Moved on to bloodied lips, fresh bite marks and neatly scratched peeling of skin / 

Who needs razors when we are born animals with teeth capable enough / 

To fulfil the ripping of flesh and thirst for blood /

Why take pills to foam from the pores / 

And hide what the cruel world made me fantasise on my own temple of a body / 

We mutilate ourselves / 

As if blood and skin offerings burning up / 

Clogging the soul and drowning temporary madness / 

Will get the world to look at kindness and love; recognise themselves in me / 

And not turn away when Death / 

Redemption stares them right in the face. 

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