Gory Innuendo

Stroke the knife till the blood comes out.
Crimson milk shooting from within.
The ooze from the skin.
Flowing like a river of sticky goodness.
Like chewy gooey red wine.
Thick globs of rubies drip down the handle.
The more that spews the better it feels.
The tighter the grip the further it goes.
I'm just a masochist, but wish to be a sadist.
It takes one to be a masochist, and two to be a sadist.
Self harm gets boring and lonely.
Oh, how the blade wishes to be with new flesh.
To cut someone else instead of oneself.
To share the pain with another.
But alas my knife belongs to me and me alone.
So I'll apply the polish and let the blood fly, all day long.