Pick the Pain
The fiery mane is once again, coloured in wet crimson.
Your pulsating veins live for violence,
beating heart living for love.
You hate to love;
Love to hate.
The flesh is marked;
Serpentine dragon worming onto your exposed nerves.
With your willing body you welcome the poison of a needle,
tiny pinprick biting into skin.
What will you draw today?
A skull for death;
or
a sword for glory?
You don't need pretty imagery,
only serving the thrall of battle.
Jerky movements impatient,
you carve a scar instead.
Cherry red is lapped away,
cheap, abundant wine of the body.
Flames lick at your face,
cheeks blackened by scorching heat.
The ash falls softly,
crumbling away like your rusting dreams.
You smile, your own little smile.