Fine Line

I’m going to bleed on my own terms.

After my fifth pregnancy loss the Bloodhound was angry.  I took a razor blade and sliced at my wrist until the specks became lines and the lines became drops and the drops became rivers.

I did this only once.  It was satisfying in the moment but like any bad decision, it compounded my pain the morning.  Blood for blood was just more blood and I had given enough.

Joy bloomed around the corner.  I just needed to hold on.


3 thoughts on “Fine Line

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