It is an art.

The nearest thing around her was a butter knife. Not stopping to thing she lodged it into her left eye, blood and white liquid spewing out abundantly. She cried in relief, not pain. She could taste it now and slowly leaned against the wall. The Butter knife was still lodged in there as she slid down the wall.

Slowly with a squishing sound she pulled it out and threw it across the room, spreading the blood in all directions. Her breathing quickened and she shook from the pain that was consuming her. A smile rippled across her face as she stuck her fingers in the hole the knife had created.

A second finger was necessary to pull the hole large enough. The ball of the eye, now deflated was easy to pull out, slipping between her fingers. It was dangling now, dripping, and still connected with short nerves. Dark crimson blood continued to flow, now drenching her clothes.

She frowned, regretting her idea of throwing the butter knife. Reaching up with her blood stained fingers she latched onto the membrane dangling from her eye and ripped it out. More blood began to flow and she laughed. The membrane was still enclosed by her fingers in a tight fist. Her laughter louder grew louder, the relief filling her body as she began to claw at her other eye.

It is an expression