Masterpiece
The blade glints in the light promising sweet nothings. Giving me the hope that tomorrow may yet not come.
I do not have control but the cold metal on my skin makes me feel like I do.
The lovely little lines fade over time, and it pains me not to see them clearly on my wretched skin.
Fresh, red rivers crossing over old, brown trails.
My mind is the artist. My body is the canvas.
One day it will make its masterpiece.










