One More Cut Wouldn't Hurt

The way it feels,
Grasping the cold shiny metal,
In your warm shaken hand,
Where it belongs,
You raise it up closer to your skin,
It touches your arm ever so slightly,
Sending vibrations to every inch of your body,
Slowly you press a little harder down on the blade,
It stings but it feels so right,
You slide the sharp edge along your arm,
It slices through revealing soft pink flesh,
Beads of scarlet expose themselves,
You want more,
You take the blade again,
This time you want it to be different,
It rips open the flesh,
Crimson rushes out seeping onto the floor,
Adrenaline rushes through your chest,
You start to sweat,
Your veins scream for more,
The floor stains red,
From the blood of a lost soul,
The amount is shocking,
But you cant help but smile,
Next to the crimson lays what is now a rusty object,
Its sharpness is unquestionable never to dull out,
It is practically calling your name,
Your weakened arm reaches out to answer,
It grabs the blade,
One more cut wouldn't hurt,
Would it?