Poetry. my means of self expression (critique?)?

[Mindless Self Indulgence]

WITH BLOOD ON MY HANDS


My mind, astray in a fit of dissociation
Numbness engulfs my sanity,
With my finger on the trigger,
I am both the victim and the abuser

He feels cold and lifeless, just like me
Yet sharp and swift, everything I yearn to be

My chronically untouched body convulses at his touch,
As my agile fingertips guide him towards my desire.
I feel him deep inside me, we have become one in each other.

I withdraw him from me and admire our creation.
Imbedded in me, a crimson contour caressed with blood.
Pure white, sabotaged with streaks of red,
Like a snowfield devastated with war.

My moment of infidelity ceases
And dissociation revisits.
But with blood on my hands, I remember him
His touch, the pinnacle of my reality.
I bleed, therefore I am
It's acutally about self injury.
I personified the blade and used sexual connotations..

It's not really supposed to make sense to anyone who hasn't been through self harm before.