The cold metal pressed against my arm
Readying for the release of liquid terror
Anticipating pain on a marked form
Suspended thoughts fighting the blade.
Time passes and still, no terror flows
The flesh freezes with unexpected contact
Too long has passed and it won’t be done
The action admitting the yearning cry.
Desperation for a physical mark to show
Bearing on behalf of the wounded mind
That organ so twisted and tortured in anguish
Yet hidden behind an ever false smile.
The metal releases, now warm from the fight
Stowed away ready for the war next night.