Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
Sixteenth Entry. Blood Roses
02-16-2003 | 2:48 p.m.

Blood Roses
Tori Amos

Blood Roses
Blood Roses
Back on the street now
can't forget the things you never said
on days like these gets me thinking
when chickens get a taste of your meat
chickens get a taste of your meat

you gave him your blood
and your warm little diamond
he likes killing you after you're dead
you think I'm a queer
I think you're a queer
I think you're a queer
Said I think you're a queer
and I shaved every place where you been
I shaved every place where you been

God knows I know I've thrown away those graces

the Bell of New Orleans tried to show me
once how to tango
wrapped around your feet
wrapped around like good little roses

Blood Roses
Blood Roses
back on the street now
now you've cut out the flute
from the throat of the loon
at least when you cry now
he can't even hear you
when chickens get a taste of your meat
when he sucks you deep
sometimes you're nothing but meat



I cut open my flesh last night, as promised. It took me only a few moments to figure out what I wanted to draw. I'm not sure if I decided before or after I started up BOYS FOR PELE but I know that by the time "Blood Roses" was starting up, I was already carving.

I drew a rose. I didn't cut too deep, I decided to stick to the surface because I feel it better that way It hurts more and it's a whole lot more irritating later on. I cut each slice so many times though, that I stopped producing blood and only the clear liquid of white blood cells would leak from the wound. I did a good job, if I say so myself. And I do.

I wiped the blood on a sheet of paper that was on my nightstand. I didn't smear, just blotted.. I have a whole bouquet of blood roses now. Plus the one I carved.

I forgot, though, that I wanted to be cautious and did it on the under side of my forearm. I'm a little agitated with myself about that, because now in this beautiful weather I'll have to wear long sleeve shirts. Oh well.

I'm going to wait till tomorrow to advance the cut. It'll scab up today and I'll pick at it and hopefully get it infected. Then, tomorrow, I'll trace the cut and make it deeper. So on and so forth for about two weeks and the scar should last at least one year-my skin heals scars very well, a lot of my artwork has faded so that even I can't tell it's there anymore.

Anyway, I think I'm going to go talk to some morons. Get myself pissed off and lose a little more faith in the human race. Then I'll be set for the day and it'll be a blast. Maybe even walk through the woods in my backyard later. Lots of briars, yum!

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