It was more than a past time…
She took pleasure in it
a cleansing-
“I’m clean”:
She cut into the flesh
like an apple
her arm a grid
red streets sectioned
into
swollen neighborhoods
and at the
thigh
inside,
hidden (the sweetest spot to kiss)
a slice like opening the universe
bleeding as she slept.
The scars will last a lifetime.
Just the thought brings a sigh of
relief.
A Chatoyant Fleck 
This is not bad poetry to the person it brings a chill to.Neither to the person it brings a gut wrenching empty feeling to.To that person,this poetry rings true like the bells of Notra Dame.To that person,these written words make him go deaf.
Thank you, that is a very high and touching compliment. Thank you again.