Scissors

Snip away the flesh. Blood spits on the unforgiving floor, stained, soaked in, to the point where the tile bursts- soul helpless, gas exposed and the poison kicks in- pounding pulsing, running through the intoxicated veins- that now bulge from my gullible skin, hypnotized thoughts, addicted to devotion. A pain so good it lingers as if ripping out each organ one by one. Then the taste of regret thickens- a sweet intensified swelling- of what could have what should have been. But instead of leaving for death you clench tight your warm, soft hands around the scissors, and carve it out, chest exposed, broken. It always belonged to you and though you verify, wanting security, proof. It was always you. You still emphasis the fact it was different this time time taught how to forgive- yet you aren't welling to see it through, risk, put yourself out on the tightrope. Instead of casting your spell you flee. And then, purity is revealed. Mirror image of yourself, alone, on the ground, lifeless, breathless, eyes- a distorted fuzz, the same, gentle brown- Petrified with recognition realizing what you avoided, what you forced away came raging, smacking you in the face. Blood caressing your forsaken goals, your broken promises and vital unspoken words. Never have scissors accessorized so perfectly, resting gently upon your empty chest reflecting acceptance, forgetting reason.