Dancing Blade

January 5, 2012

The blade shone in the moonlight. It was my key. My key out of this cage, out of this hole that had become my entire existence.
The blade winked at me. Almost seductively. Bending in the light.
I sat on the window sill; my arm was stretched in front of me. A blank canvas. Awaiting its red adornment.
I hold the blade flat against my skin, it’s cool and calming. I feel better already.
I’m on some twisted high.
It seems to dance, dance across my skin, dance through the thick ooze.
Dance on blade, dance on.
I don’t feel a thing, and that’s the way I like it.

The author's comments:
This is based on one of my best friends, who recently said she enjoys having a blade dance across her skin.
I cried.

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