Late at night alone by myself,
Muttering redundant insanities as I slip to sleep,
It calls me,
Little steel friend stained with blood,
Perhaps boredom finally drives my hand,
Or perhaps some deeper need or deformity inside,
But without fail, time and time again,
I fall into it's Nocturnal Embrace,
Afterwards I feel somewhat stupid,
Washing blood off stained black hairs,
And promise myself, never again,
And lie to myself as I slip into sleep.
