Absentmindedly I let my fingers

run over a cut piece of glass

watching my eyes reflected

in the multitude of facets

an iris of pale grey and blue

arrayed in fine lines around the blackness.


I see my hand moving lazily

over the cool, smooth planes

an instrument of elegant form

a long and slender shape

light unmarred skin

stretched over muscle, sinew and bone.


A sharp edge cuts me

a pearly drop of crimson blood

forms on the tip of a finger

blooming like a rosebud

I can feel the scent of it

copper, salt and rust in my nose.


There is no pain

and yet I know I live.