DEEP RED

One piece, one look. It digs through, deep into your soul. Looking down, there’s nothing but a deep red liquid flowing out. Something so little finds a way to satisfy so much. The dark red blood symbolizes the fear and hate caged inside. As the piece of metal comes in contact with the bare, pale, scarred flesh, it rapidly flashes across to only make another memorabilia of the depression and stress overtaking your whole body. It’s an indescribable comfort. Safety somehow finds its way like nothing else does. The thought of the rush, the looseness, the compelling impulse to see the dark red color, only to prove you’re still alive. Something inside is still living, even if your external figure feels as if it is not. It digs deep down, hitting further than the bottom of your heart, further than even your soul. Nothing feels as good but at the same time as terrifying. The blood is no longer a part that keeps you alive, but an addiction. Taking one look at what once was a factor of seclusion is now a factor of acceptance. Each time a scar is made, the want of more increases. The deep red becomes more undeniable each time until one day, it all subsides into a darkness like no other.