From the Heart

And from out of these cuts comes the empty drowse of fatigue. How much is left within me? I cut and I cut and I cut and do these demons fly out? Do you not see them? Because I haven't found them yet. Each lover, each opportunity is tainted with the dye of pepper and condiments, added bonuses to a deal I've been saving every last penny toward. Yet these sweeteners tend to poison the whole gamut.

If you've caught sight or wind of anything pouring out of me, let me know. This red light taints my ability to judge the drainage, and the weariness of the body has been steady since before you saw me take this razor to my skin.

There will be a time when I give up . . . I might pass out first, however . . .