Wishful Woes

I felt the razor slide against my skin,

incising the cinnabar flesh.

It cut a faint line beside a pulsing,

blue vein,

and the slightest trickle of

blood escaped.

I watched the scarlet fluid slide along the

exposed white canvas.

It ran down my trembling legs,

swirled near my knees,

and retired down the drain.

And then,

it just stopped.

The blood stopped pulsing,

as if compelled by a witch's spell.

The room spun

and my knees buckled,

my head slamming against the glass

chamber.

An anomaly of chords and strands

of endless notes rung

throughout the hollows of my ears.

They traversed in and out,

sending my once-calm mind

into an uncomtrollable frenzy.

Glancing unsteadily down at my pulsing wrist,

I watched as the blood began to remerge.

It cut a faint line down the length of my punctured veins,

and I let the room fade to black.