Cutting For The Blood Poem by Sam Bowen

Cutting for the blood
What is it about blood
That makes people so squeamish
Personally
I love it
I love the deep red colour
The thickness of it
The warmth of it when it flows
Down my wrists
Cutting
It's my drug
It's my addiction
And i'm making no attempt
To stop
No one really cares anyway
Not even my own mother
My so called friends don't even care
Next time
I might as well die
No one would care
I'm just one more screwed up
Hopeless soul
So i take my leave
Good bye