Several times the thought grazed her mind.
A sharp shiny silver
gliding over her wrist.
A moment of intense focus,
a blurring of all else
but that deep release of pain.
A cathartic red palette,
a purging of sorrow.
Of squeezing out the surplus poison.
In search of not an end,
But the beginning of a flow.
Of a rhythm that will sing.
.JPG)