Finding Asylum

We walked the roads of love,
hand in bloody hand.
Like cutting feathers from a dove,
surprised I still stand.
Scars on my leg,
wounds on my shoulder,
scabs on my mind,
heart growing colder.
Suicidal imbecile with
a penchant for pain.
Foolish and vain as I was,
my body I let you maim.
Your fists were knives
trying to end my life.
Yet the pain and blood were bliss,
almost like a loving kiss.
Ravishing the longing for
the ignorant and numb.
Took the wrong way out,
trying to find asylum.
I do not miss those days
when I thought you a friend.

I will never walk love's road
with the razor blade again.