Alone

It had started as a play

She wanted to see how far she could go

One gash on the index finger

Tiny beads of blood stood out

She watched fascinated

A gash on the forearm

And blood spurted out

There was slight discomfort

But the eruption excited her

Filling her with strange elation

She continued carving motifs on her skin

Feeling weak but intoxicated

Fresh blood had this effect on her

Finally she slumped on the floor

Knife still in her hand

They found her putrescent body

A week later

For she lived alone

No family, nor any friendship

Mourned by none.