• Like a Snail, slowly sliding cross a razors edge
    Caught, by hook, tugging and tearing at flesh until it rips,
    tears, is removed, as the Snail passes gently down

    Do we cast a glance of mourning, for the crimson tears
    Crying red?
    What is bled is life, being, existence
    Being on this earth

    But all this is taken, as mind and thought are split in twain
    By the razors edge.