Spiral

There is blood cascading in rivulets down my face and a part of me thinks it would make for a pretty picture if I could stop soaking it up for long enough to grab my camera- but I don't. As it continues to pour down my face, dripping down my throat when I tilt my head back I wonder how much more of this I can take. This is the third one today and the crimson tissues in my hands have stopped soaking it up.

It's splattering across the sink basin now. It looks almost beautiful as I turn the tap on, shoulders quivering with sobs and I wash the water down...

down.

down.

The water is pink now and I find it kind of pretty.

Y'know, pink was my favorite color when I was a kid.

I wanted to paint my room with it.

I'm glad mama stopped me.

Now all I think of when I see that color is watered down blood

spiraling- spiraling endlessly down that drain.

and I begin to think that I'm spiraling -just a little bit- too.