Why after all of these years must these thoughts return?
The dark urges screaming for pain,
Begging for the split skin and spilt blood.
Purifying my soul.
Why after all of these years have they returned?
The voices screaming silently in my head,
Screeching their displeasure at my joy.
Burying my pain.
Why after all of these years must they be heard?
The drip, drip of blood spilling on tile,
The scent of it rising in the air,
To cleanse my mind.