Blood, death and booze

Poem about a depressed, self-harming massochist. Aye, just that cheerful.

On my knees in blood and pain,
That fuckers been drinking again,
I slowly rise up on my feet,
Spirits dead in all this heat,

Here the screams of pain and strain,
Forget a child is playing this game,
In the corner lost in neglect and torn,
In a world that seems forlorn,

Cut, slash, blood is great,
No one stop this deadly fate,
Stress bleeds from pale wrists,
Oh my love for masochists.

A need for pain not a love,
Blood stained wings on a plain white dove,
Love and war is a twisted game,
Only you can stop this pain.