I feel everything
from the bath water being to cold,
to the pain in that old man's eyes as he walked through the streets and wonders
how he came to be so alone
i think about such small and intricate thought.
untouched blades,dangerously sharp.
these thoughts cut the deepest and yet a part of me craves to swim in a river of red
i want to watch myself bleed in the comfort of knowing im not alone
nor are the hidden droplets of life that no one else has the thought to look for.
That's why shallow people are often beautifully pristine.
they are thinkers of common thoughts.
blunt knives that cut no deeper into their smooth skin than the hands
that caress their bodies.
Lonely are the sufferers.