Scars

I digg my nails inside my palm, trying to contain the need to see my own blood.
I love cutting myself. I relish in seeing my own blood outside of me..I enjoy the sight of it.
The sight of blood.
It's mingles and twists in various paths, never having a real destiny. It's a long tear that leaves its ruby trace behind, a cold yet beautiful mark. Bloods colour is so distinct, so warm and filled with life..that outside the body it is remarkable. It's thick and filed with the flow of dark current. A symbol of humanity, of heritage, of nature. Of weaknesses and strengths. It is luscious and..I crave it.
......

The Morris operandi of a killer.

What could be a considered a speech

Alrighty. A speech. As I sit down in front of my laptop, I think of what I could write. What do I want to say? Do I want a speech recognising human hope and life changing events, or do I want a speech that is straight to the point?
As I stare at the blinking eye of the typewriter, I realise the words under it
Wisdom .....
and it hits me.
Wisdom is nothing of age, nothing you gain throughout time.
A speech that will translate hope in any language, and manage to do so without sounding unrealistic.
After I stare at the assignment given to me, I think of what I want to write. Do I want to write something so hopeful and life changing? But I've never done anything life changing. I never did an action to inspire others. But I think of a few other people who did so and have managed to inspire me and I hope to be blah


Datum fuckin terrible