The blades slice. Constantly slicing. Slice, slice. Blood, the colour of a garnet. No! Garnet is not precious, a ruby. A ruby is hard to come by, hard to buy. Rubys cost money. Blood costs sanity and life. Dark thoughts sprout into life like a demented rose, thorns tearing away at flesh, at my mind. Slice, slice. Scars, not a burden, but a memory of better days. Not to be revived... Not ever! Curled up in my corner, protected from misunderstanding glances, pity, sympathy. Not a soul knows, not a soul was told.
Blades, still slicing. My mind a coffin, never to be opened. Never to be disturbed. Blood, such a fasinating object. Speeding around my body, the only proof of this. A pulse. A measly pulse. No longer steady, just a subtle tapping in my chest. Always there. No matter how hard I try!
Black. The colour of emptiness. Of my soul. Manuscripts of my thoughts are kept in a small black leather bound book. Black, the colour of emptiness, of sorrow.
A knife, such a selective weapon. Wielded by the correct person, can cause pain. Death. The one thing I yearn for. Death! Oh such a harsh mistress! When will she come knocking at my door. Such a divine weapon. Mortality! Such a glorious weapon! Surely mortality shall grant my wish...
Maybe, I am only a machine. Built to complete my ambitions. But a auto-maton uses fuel. Blood. A machine stops when it lacks fuel. The heart, a mortal engine. My blood must run dry for the mortal engine to cease.
Light! Oh how glorious! Salvation at last! Mortality has granted my wish!
La mortalité a accordé mon souhait. Bonjour la mort. Bonjour le repos éternel. au revoir