As the sharp edge is pinned in my arm,another glob of scarlet plummets to
the heavy weighted floor,
adding to the vast pool of dejection.
As the pool gets bigger,
the blade searches deeper,
for a vein...
for a miracle.
I cringe at the pain,
at the sight of my fresh cut skin,
at the sight of my forsaken affection.
Cut layering upon cut,
emotions staking like a needle in my throat.
I can't seem to swallow this lump in my throat,
my arm goes numb,
and the fool finally bleeds.
Overflowing with the warmth of the liquid,
I smash to the floor, yelping out words of salvage,
yet smiling at the feeling of discomfort.
A good feeling of discomfort.
Color vanishes,pitch black hits my eyes.
I feel cold and bare.
Is this it?
 
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