Scarlet Rain

I press the pad of my thumb onto the edge of the blade. Slowly, carefully I squeeze the cut, watch the fresh scarlet blood weep like tears from my thumb. I feel the pain, yet I do not. It has a numbing effect. It erases the old pain. With each drop of blood that falls from me, so does a trouble. My anger at my mother, my frustration at my sister. My deep, wrenching sorrow for my broken life.