Carving Old Wounds

Here is an attempt of a poem without the letter E!!

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Blunt stabs carving into old wounds,
Blood slowly starts to pour out.
Flow so rapid, tap won't turn off,
A stamp drying into my tight skin.
Constant loss of fluid,
Loss of air, lungs howl.

Soothing guilt with shots,
Of drugs and alcohol.
Actions unknown in dark conditions,
I can't stop this.
You will stitch it up again,
But I'll slash it with a distinct slit.

Bandaids stuck firmly down,
Holding a coating from an outburst of hurt.
Markings run up and down my arms,
Showing a past individual, who I was.
Worn out from a foul upbringing,
Cold, wanting to cry aloud.

Soul shouting in a world,
With no sight of a grin.
Crawling along a radar,
Slipping sick into a torn product.
Crying out loud for justice,
Running fast, I can't stop.

Mascara discharging south,
Lips start to sting and burn.
Lying in a small suburban shack,
Point of attack, I'm a victim.
Shot straight in a pool of blood,
A wound fading into history.

Body blazing into nothing,
From skin grafts growing apart.
Torch lighting dark tags,
Scars that criss-cross in this soul.
Running quick from a sting,
Fill my tracks with a supply of blood.