Every single minute can only be alleviated with the raw power of steel on flesh, sheering through the passion of pain gliding the outer epidermis and bringing a sullen calm to the irrational depression which lays within. The chill of the blade caressing through the skin breaking loose the anguish and pain, why is it when I think it goes away it all comes back again?
As the moments pass you sit and watch how your new display will play as it rolls down in its crimson trail, leaving the look of a canvass so pale. The warmth of the trickle barely fades you anymore, you yearn for the cold and the edge of the sword. Without a word, and a perhaps maybe only a slight grimace, you return to the cold world that brought you into this.