Stomach It

Look at the blood on your hands
The dark pigment slipping through your fingers
How badly do you wish your body were a jacket you could slip out of?

Does it feel good when the blade of your tongue
Cuts right through skin?
Do you taste the metallic taste of the liquid?

Slowly
Methodically
You slice every word to hit a mark

Push the buttons
Pull the levers
Perfectly

Twist the mind
And hence mangle the body
Slow dancing
To the ballad of abuses hurled
In the blood bath

Does the guilt of what you have done ever get you?
Catch up to you while you run around gas lighting lies?

But remember,
Just when it gets too bad
And your insides can't hold the gore
Of what you've done
Stomach it.