Red.

A river runs from my mind, snaking a trail from my head, slithering down my neck as every hair stands stiff.
A shudder wracks me, as the warmth falls down my shoulder, following my arm, outlining every vein, a map of my life as it flows from me.
My heart beats one last cacophony of brilliance, cascading outward to hasten the flow of red seething forth from me.
I watch the art writing itself upon my arm, following every watercolor etching down to my fingers, ink pooling upon their tips.
In this ink I see my story.
My history laid bare and plain for my eyes to digest, every memory dialogued out for my own perception and interpretation.
Drops of ink begin to fall from me, taking my thoughts and memories.
I see the glistening remnants of my own sanity splatter against the ground beneath me.
I lift my arm up above me, watching the history written upon it shift as the river begins to change direction.
I feel my memories raining down upon me, covering myself in their warmth.
I feel them begin to sink within my skin once more.
I feel my heart begin to beat again.
I feel glistening memory seething within.
My mind is alive and my eyes begin to open.
I see the world through bloodshot eyes.
It shines with a passion I never knew before.
I breath in myself.
I smile once more.