Drips

I find comfort in the way the red beads form on my skin. The way water forms on the outside of a drink on a nice summer day. Birds chirping, kids playing, laughing, screaming having fun. I don't like that I find comfort from the screaming inside my head to stop. Laughing between my tears with every sharp pinch of the cold blade. Cold like the tears that fall from my eyes or the drips of condensation from the glass.