Deeper with each passing day
Once merely a hair strand thick
It now seeps quintessence out into the air
Introducing a new train of digression,
the cut instead grows- renouncing all repair
Gaping further the man loses touch,
all his cuts now doing so- he now sees reality as such
Death consumes him for life is merely a transition,
in which he's left to linger.
Sometimes wishing his reality was as it should be
he then remembers life is full of despair
His life as the cut once was, merely a hair.
The only thing left is to watch the cuts gape, to cut back and stair.
(Old one I found written 2-5-09...4+years ago)
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