January 25, 2018
By , Mint Hill, NC

A thought flickers across her mind,

like lightning in a storm.

A blade,

beginning to slice upon a pale wrist.


The mind shrieks.

Another flicker.

The blade becomes

A bow,

Dancing upon the strings of

A violin.

But still,

The blade lurks,

Waiting for an opportunity to return,

To allow the crimson melody to flow.

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