the first cut

talking about cutting

 

I slowly slice through the top layer .a warm liquid seeps out, I take my brush dipped in red smear the tip on the paper. Words start to form, minute go by then hours, words turn into phrases then sentences. My mind is going crazy. To much ink not enough paper i reach behind me and rip out another piece of paper. Designs drop on the paper/my mind feels faint. my vision blurs. I look down, I’m sitting in a puddle. I realize I’m no longer the writer, I’m the written. My arms covered in the thick warm red liquid. I see my room spinning. I fall asleep. Into the deepest of all, one I shall never wake up from.