Laceration

is it self-inflicted if an accident

here I am

in this sliver of existence

blood in a river 

running from my hand

irrelevant, but ever present

smells of iron and detachment

spectating the slaughter

that I brought upon myself

i thin my blood and let it run

why would I stop this endless fun

drinking the ache away

writing nonsense on brilliant white

that by no one will be swayed

its just a cut, nothing deep

a wart severed from my knuckle

that keeps bleeding

be it far from my heart,

nothing fatal

I'll carry on