All I seem to be able to do is clasp my shaking hand over a bleeding wound.
But by doing so more blood floods from a foreign limb.
My intentions were never dark!
Never have I purposefully acted in a selfish way under a malice spell!
But intentions are only the difference between ****** and manslaughter.
Only a contrast of prison time that will be served undoubtedly.
I hurt the ones closest to me.
No, I don't hurt them.
I ****** their trust and souls with each unforgiving, ignorant blow.
I know not what I do until the damage is beyond all possible repair.
I clench the slit, spewing a crimson oil, but do not realize that in all my thrashing about, my own wrist has been ******.