Red pearls decent from your limbs as you sit in the abyss you call a room, with a blade to your skin, Crying for help. you get a rush from the ruby colored liquid puddling your bed, making you relived yet nauseas at once. It only seems that pain is pleasure in the abyss, once you leave, pain will become fear. You start to get numb from the self inflection. Bloodlust. Tattooed in your soul, craving to see ruby tears flowing from pale skin. Raining onto black silk collecting like a cloud until it releases. Bloodlust, the craving you've gotten from your father. You call it a kink when really it's a curse. It feels lovely to be bestowed the curse... you thought it was a blessing, then you remembered that blessings aren't real and the only "blessing" you receive is pain. Bloodlust.
This is my first poem so bleh idc if it sucks
