The Sound of Tearing

With a jagged piece of metal,
I slide the tip of it roughly
Down the soft, pale skin
Of tonight's victim.

The sound of skin tearing fills
My ears like the voice of
A long, lost love coming
Back into my life for a few seconds.

Another slide down the skin
And beads of blood start to
Trickle down shallow cuts.
Oh how red and tempting it was.

More tearing bounces off of the
White walls in the orange/yellow light
Of the small bathroom that is being
Used as my art station.

I start to hack and slice the metal
At the victim, causing cuts of
All shapes and sizes to form
Over and on top of each other.

Specks of blood spatter along the
Walls, the tiled floor, the toilet,
And the marble sink.
An welcoming sight to see.

The victim grunts in pain,
Their jaw clenched shut as I
Continue to hack and carve
Into their flesh.

I close my eyes and let
My hand flow in violent yet elegant
Movements to draw
The final drips of blood from torn flesh.

I open my eyes, stare into the mirror
And notice how my eyes went from
Blue to grey in the matter of what
Felt like hours but was seconds.

I look down at my exposed arm
And watch as my blood trickled
Down to the sink,
Coating it in crimson and pink water.