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The blade is cold at first touch

The touch is sharp at first cut

The cut stings as it slides

As it slides the cold is replaced with warmth

The warmth is think and feels smooth as it starts to run

As it runs it spills, what was once white is no more

The warmth from inside spreads out on the floor

Forming puddles beneath my wrists

As I lay there completely still I begin to notice the feeling I feel

The warmth I once had begins to slip away from me to the floor

And once again my body begins to feel cold

As cold as the blade when it made its first cut