I forgot how beautiful of a colour crimson is.

How comforting of a sight those small beads are.

First, starting off as separate, then, more and more, gathering together into one long stream.
A red trickle.
Running down my leg.
Drip, drip, dripping on the floor.

That solace of that sharp blade.
How it increases my focus on the here, on the now.
Drawing me in with its sweet siren song.
Helping me forget - for just a split second - all the chaos in my head.


And then that moment is gone.


And I just want more.
More.
More.
More.

An appetite that is never fulfilled.
A pain that is never too much.


Just one more time.

(And another.  And another.  And another.)