Blood Can Be So Pretty

This poem is as old as fuck :P

I try to see your side.
To leave it all behind,
To forget the story of the past,
And leave the memory of what happened last.
The blade is set aside,
Waiting to taste my skin,
to release warm sweet crimson.
The day dims, promising
moonlight and stars.
Should I hide my scars?
I slice and dice,
Wanting to rid my burning fever
That dwells deep inside.
I know that I want to be
as cold as ice.
I lay here pouring pain, stress,
envy, sorrow and life.
Slow and painful kisses from my knife
Sit on the surface, and deep inside.
It's such a pity. So tell me,
Why is blood... So pretty?