Self-Inflicted Detachment

The flowers are melting, red petals dripping off the blade
There is a new furrow in the fields of my flesh
Filled with poppy's and daisy heads
Speculate the blood flow, a vein to prosper from
Minerals harvested on sheets of tissue
The stain grows and hairs are drowned in blood
Desperately trying to reach the sun like boxed flowers
A gift for the living, is living a gift?
Wrap me in skin to bind my flesh
Pull at the bow of my spine, unwrap me with a box-cutter
Peel the lids from my eyes, let me feel them dry
Stick me to the blankets
Let me pull myself from their clutches in the morning
Embrace me and feel the warmth as it flows from my arms