I awoke this morning to be reminded of my own vitality in the shower. Bright red drops falling to cover my arms, chest, and the walls. My attempts to stop it were futile, succeeding only in covering my hands in blood. As I grabbed at the shower curtain, I could only paint the walls with more of me.
Not knowing what to do I could only stair down and let the blood fall to my wrists, making me wish I had a camera as a last fitch effort to record my life. Even my own saliva was stained pink. I began to worry it might never stop and I'd eventually loose enough of this bright, bright red that was beginning to cover me. There they'd find me passed out on the dirty shower floor, pink, red, cold, and wet.
I'm not feeling particularlly poetic. Maybe I'll hire and editor and rewrite this.