Wipe the tears off from my cheeks.
Clean the wounds from which blood peeks.
With the knife my skin I tore.
Leaving it cut, bruised and sore.

A twisted smile upon my face.
My fingers to my skin, then my lips, I taste.
How sweet this crimson life blood smells,
The knowing glint in my eye tells

That this is not the first time I've
Tasted something so divine.
The only thing that may come close
Is the feeling of being comatose.

In this state I'm practically dead
With no evil marching through my head.
Whis is how I want to be,
And one day I will, you shall see.

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