Martyr of The Godless Self

(tw: self harm) Red runs rivets around The tiles, torture touched trenches, As fresh flesh flails free; Blasphemously blessed by blade. Blood runs down skin, Skin runs down blood, I finally win, Carve out the wood. I am the butcher of my destiny, Nary a suture around to be seen As I slash through meat, Slash through the misery. God sees defeat As I slump to victory