Time Heals but the Flesh Wounds...
In your sinful procrastination, there are some things you fail to hear...
Maybe you might have missed the cut, and its seeping call of crimson fear.
You searched up and down, left and right, in the nook and crannies of all the rooms...
Wait too long, and this often happens, but only to those who don't care for their wounds.
The blade was there, yet you still did not care...
While forever indulgent in earthly desires.
You fed your thirst, and drowned in his hair...
Sinking deeper and deeper beneath the mire.
Over and over whispered the hand, down into the depths of your ear,
But you were so busy, so occupied, distracted with the way his love laid sincere...
Nothing can replace the blood, because only forever reaches past the tomb...
Things like this happen to only those who fail to care for their fleshing wounds.
Maybe you might have missed the cut, and its seeping call of crimson fear.
You searched up and down, left and right, in the nook and crannies of all the rooms...
Wait too long, and this often happens, but only to those who don't care for their wounds.
The blade was there, yet you still did not care...
While forever indulgent in earthly desires.
You fed your thirst, and drowned in his hair...
Sinking deeper and deeper beneath the mire.
Over and over whispered the hand, down into the depths of your ear,
But you were so busy, so occupied, distracted with the way his love laid sincere...
Nothing can replace the blood, because only forever reaches past the tomb...
Things like this happen to only those who fail to care for their fleshing wounds.
♠ ♠ ♠
What this poem actually means, is that we often replace some our needs with desire. In this case, a girl was previously addicted to cutting, but now has found love, or lust rather, and she seeks often sex to replace her desire. It soon comes back to haunt her, and she loses her true identity, along with the blade after a massive breakup after two years with her boyfriend.