I miss making art. Once, it was soothing. I had a special tool - metallic to most, I was able to color in red. So many beautiful pictures. The slight sting. Dripped from my wrist - traveling to my thigh. A masterpiece never to be seen by the world. Frazzled nerves would soften and relax. Pounding heartbeat slowed to a steady beat. Screaming thoughts fell silent. The sight of the deep red on the top of soft skin was mesmerizing. The pain it caused compared nothing to the beauty of the feeling granted. Yes, I miss making art, paintings drying since the last spring. The yearn to create something beautiful. A short time ago, I made use of my sweet tool. The sting. The drip. The red. All were seen and felt yet again. Maybe for the last time.