The Masterpiece

Blood streams from ragged wounds just cut

on arms laid 'cross my chest

pooling in a crimson velvet cushion

on which my body rests.

Dark sightless eyes gaze upwards from a serenly pale face,

Lips once twisted torturously smiling

faintly in the peace of death.

There was no pain each time I cut:

Merely the wonder at the beauty of the blood

as it slid sensuously down my arms.

The exhilaration of knowing I AM the

"object de art:- The Masterpiece.

Reverently reclining, my mind begins to drift.

Do you accept you roll in shaping me for this moment?

Will you anguish over the childhood innocence you stold from me?

A deep shuttering sigh escapes my lungs

as life's blood ebbs from wounds just cut

on arms laid 'cross my chest

pooling in a crimson velvet cushion on which my body rests.

Dark sightless eyes gaze upwards:

The anguish has been vanquished.

No tears or pain are found

for now I am at peace in

the comforting arms arms of death.

by

Loralee Morehouse

copywrited Jan. 2005