I Paint the Walls

Hands aching for the Blade.
Veins begging to opened.
Blood waiting to be freed.

The need to feel.
Knowing its the only way.
Only deep enough to feel myself.

How did this come to be?
Haunted by childhood memories.
The echoed silence is killing me,
More than the Blade.

So i paint the walls.
The white becomes a beautiful red.
The red fades and
I feel the ache again.