I pushed just the tiniest bit, just enough pressure to prick my ripe, plump vein. A perfect droplet gathers at the tip of the blade. It's so absolute, so flawless, I want more. I want to gather those perfect drops in my palm and carry them with me, so that I can just look at them from time to time. So that I can show everyone that something inside of me is beautiful. Thousands of round drops of...no millions. They are there. I just have to show someone, prove to myself that others can see this. That maybe someone can say it to me. So that I can experience the way 'Beautiful' feels as it falls on your ear.
If I had just a few more...only a few more. Just a little deeper, just a little harder, just enough to feel the extraordinary rush of the rupture. Ebony and Crimson spill down my arm, fill my waiting palms with their warmth, drip through my fingers to stain ivory sheets.
I run those dyed fingers over my face, press them into my eyelids, feel the life of that thick stream as it finds it's way beyond my eyelashed to pour into my eyes. And blind me with it's power.