Crumpled

Does it hurt?
Just a bit
I promise to stop,
but here is still sit.
Still carving a mask,
to the pain that I feel,
the crimson is falling,
no way this is real.
But sadly it is,
and these sheets are stained red.
Fueled by the sadness
of this empty bed.
So as my story drawls to a close
Im revisited by demons, old foes.
And I draw the blade,
so close to my skin.
Once the paper is crumpled up
it cant be perfect again.