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Drying Out
January 18, 2010
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I wasn't supposed to hurt this much.
Yet the gleaming blade finds its way to my wrist anyway.
Dancing,
with a mind of its own,
slicing your name deep into my soul.
Fountains as red as a robins breast spill forth.
I welcome it, drown in it, let it drain me dry.
The blade took it,
took all my hurt and replaced it with more.
I poured my essence out in a gush of scarlet;
let the silver edge suck out all that I ever felt.
Once an oasis of pain,
is now a desert of everlasting apathy.
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