This senseless cutting of the wrist... I don't know why, but it frightens me. To have blood all over my wrists with wounds that will barely heal. If blood travels through the veins, why cut it open? I don't wanna die in a bloody mess. Well, it is a possibility, but not one I favor. To have steel cut through wrists with no problem reminds me we are all fragile because the second we bleed, reminds us that we are not invincible.
But still, my wrists tell the whole story. My life is so innocent right now. So much can go wrong.
But so much can go so right... My hands. It's filled with curiousity. How did I learn to use them? How do I even control them? These fingers... it's useful, but sometimes freaks me out. I can cut my wrist, but not my hands. My hands, they create. My wrists, my fear.
