"I feel everything. From the bath
water that’s slightly too cold, to the pain in that old man’s eyes as he walks
through the street and wonders how he came to be so alone. I think such small
and intricate thoughts; untouched blades, so dangerously sharp. These thoughts
cut the deepest and yet a part of me craves to swim in a river of red. I want
to watch myself bleed in the comfort of knowing I’m not alone and nor are the
hidden droplets of life that no one else has thought to look for. That’s why
shallow people are often so beautifully pristine - they are thinkers of common
thoughts: blunt knives that cut no deeper into their smooth skin than the hands
that caress their bodies.
Lonely
are the sufferers."
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