There is blood on my hands and it soaks into everything I touch.
I feel the river flow over my skin, turning my pale body the colour of hell’s fires.
There is a change in me at night that dies with morning light,
Yet blood stains remain as do the blades, the blades that will be used once more.
And again and again till the only escape possible takes me.
Feel my hands, they’re hot with the blood pulsing through my body,
They’re hot with the blood that soaks them.
Blood and blades summarises my life, they cannot be taken, they are me and I am them.
Life is not life for me for I do not live, I survive.