My veins are an inkwell

Someone's pulling

Pulling at my chest

Reaching a hand into the inky blackness of my lungs and

Grabbing the broiling dark mass

It pulls out nicely

Like snot pulled out with tweezers

It feels good once it's out,


I feel lighter now

Don't you see? I'm empty.

The pulling hand was the razor that carved into my skin

Blood pools in the sink and turns the swirling water crimson.

Don't you see? That was where the poison was.

It's gone now. Please tell me it's gone?