Cut once, now cut twice, open a vein and let it flow. Out goes the life from within me, onto the ground. The steam rises in the cold air as I grow ashen and pail. Wrap the wound and shiver for the loss. Not so much is let out that it will end me, but enough is gone to let me know how precious life. A dangerous game of cat and mouse with my own life. How long can it really last before I catch up with myself?