how appropriate for 'a slice of life' to suggest a negative connotation.
only because everytime i read or hear it, the almost-bittersweet, almost-tangy metallic taste of steel slowly creeps up from the back of my throat all the way to the tip of tongue, making all my teeth
cringe
and on my wrists appear the memory of that
prickingbitingstinging little pinches of pain as a sharp new blade makes it way across immaculately smooth skin going right to left
and again, right to left
and
again, right to left.
it leaves thin little trails of misery, randomly making its way down and around a now tainted arm, as if trying to lead you away from what you irrefutably know will be blinding agony for so and so time.
how sharp a word,
slice, and how oh-so-fitting.
almost deliriously i wait for that moment when it will no longer remind me of an invisible edge, rather, to make me think of whatever seems to satisfy everyone else
or what makes them hide their misery seamlessly.
but as for now, how appropriate for that slice of life to cut through so indifferently.
so cleanly.
so
expertly.