Tw: mild gore
I dive the knife in and cut. I'm no doctor, but it looks neat and clean to me. Then I tilt the knife to the side and hear a gravely scraping sound. Pain rushes through my body, and for a moment I'm sure I'm going to throw up, but it leaves me just as quick. I repeat the motion. The feeling is duller this time, but the item under my knife doesn't budge. The cut needs to be wider, I think, and move my weapon. First up, then down. The blood starts oozing from it with more intensity, rolling down my side and onto the white towel folded next to me. Satisfied with the size of the incision, I center the knife and twist. It misses. I start to feel lightheaded. Another twist. Scrape. But with the sound I feel a tugging in my muscle. It’s lodged there well, and probably has tissue growing around it. But it's a good sign, that means I finally have some leverage on it. I repeat the motion, putting more force into it, and it sounds as if wet strings are popping, stretched to the point of no return. First cold, then hot, then ache shoots to my back and shoulder and I have to let a shiver settle before I do something else. I angle the knife and try to position it almost parallel to my torso to get it under, and my ribs sing out under the torture. I start to pant as I use both of my hands to try and lodge it in, even though my left hand doesn't want to listen anymore. The weapon shivers and refuses to go in. Once I take it out, I can see a small sliver of yellowish liquid at the tip of the blade. I taste bile in my mouth. Should I make the cut wider too? After a short breath I cut across the first bloody opening, forming an X on my pale skin. Then I dive the cutting edge in and try to cut around the intruder in my body. The edges are ragged and uneven. My hands are not steady enough, the knife slips and dives between my ribs. I give out an unwilling sob and screw my eyes tight, praying it didn't damage my lung. Breathing was painful from the very beginning, so I wouldn't be able to tell. Slowly, carefully, I take my weapon out, and it hurts worse than when it came in. My vision blacks out for a moment. My left hand is basically useless now, it’s numb and I feel tiny needles running under the skin, the fingers won't even grasp the handle. With my consciousness getting blurry, I realize that I'm running out of time. If I don't get it out now, I won't have another chance. I slap myself on the face, hard, and the world somewhat comes back into focus. I can smell something in the air that I can't quite place. Maybe it's my sweat, or the rot under my skin. But there's something more to it, like wet stone or a damp basement, so subtle it’s making me annoyed that I can't figure it out. I have to continue. I tilt the knife to the side once more, trying to get under it, and wiggle it lightly. That works surprisingly better than the blunt pressure I tried before. I feel it slowly come loose, tissue releasing its prisoner. I work it for what feels like an hour before I'm able to twist the knife, and it slides out with a wet squelch, hanging out of my body on a single bloody thread. I drop the knife to the floor and grab it, tugging it free with little resistance. It's hard to focus, but it looks so familiar. Something small and sharp, glistening with blood and pus, making it hard to make out. My vision darkens.
Hope someone finds me before I bleed out.
I dive the knife in and cut. I'm no doctor, but it looks neat and clean to me. Then I tilt the knife to the side and hear a gravely scraping sound. Pain rushes through my body, and for a moment I'm sure I'm going to throw up, but it leaves me just as quick. I repeat the motion. The feeling is duller this time, but the item under my knife doesn't budge. The cut needs to be wider, I think, and move my weapon. First up, then down. The blood starts oozing from it with more intensity, rolling down my side and onto the white towel folded next to me. Satisfied with the size of the incision, I center the knife and twist. It misses. I start to feel lightheaded. Another twist. Scrape. But with the sound I feel a tugging in my muscle. It’s lodged there well, and probably has tissue growing around it. But it's a good sign, that means I finally have some leverage on it. I repeat the motion, putting more force into it, and it sounds as if wet strings are popping, stretched to the point of no return. First cold, then hot, then ache shoots to my back and shoulder and I have to let a shiver settle before I do something else. I angle the knife and try to position it almost parallel to my torso to get it under, and my ribs sing out under the torture. I start to pant as I use both of my hands to try and lodge it in, even though my left hand doesn't want to listen anymore. The weapon shivers and refuses to go in. Once I take it out, I can see a small sliver of yellowish liquid at the tip of the blade. I taste bile in my mouth. Should I make the cut wider too? After a short breath I cut across the first bloody opening, forming an X on my pale skin. Then I dive the cutting edge in and try to cut around the intruder in my body. The edges are ragged and uneven. My hands are not steady enough, the knife slips and dives between my ribs. I give out an unwilling sob and screw my eyes tight, praying it didn't damage my lung. Breathing was painful from the very beginning, so I wouldn't be able to tell. Slowly, carefully, I take my weapon out, and it hurts worse than when it came in. My vision blacks out for a moment. My left hand is basically useless now, it’s numb and I feel tiny needles running under the skin, the fingers won't even grasp the handle. With my consciousness getting blurry, I realize that I'm running out of time. If I don't get it out now, I won't have another chance. I slap myself on the face, hard, and the world somewhat comes back into focus. I can smell something in the air that I can't quite place. Maybe it's my sweat, or the rot under my skin. But there's something more to it, like wet stone or a damp basement, so subtle it’s making me annoyed that I can't figure it out. I have to continue. I tilt the knife to the side once more, trying to get under it, and wiggle it lightly. That works surprisingly better than the blunt pressure I tried before. I feel it slowly come loose, tissue releasing its prisoner. I work it for what feels like an hour before I'm able to twist the knife, and it slides out with a wet squelch, hanging out of my body on a single bloody thread. I drop the knife to the floor and grab it, tugging it free with little resistance. It's hard to focus, but it looks so familiar. Something small and sharp, glistening with blood and pus, making it hard to make out. My vision darkens.
Hope someone finds me before I bleed out.
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Народ, сделать отдельный канал с нсфв рисунками или постить вам сюда?
Forwarded from zeyreez but like annoying cat yk?
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Еще я как то раз делала glory hole юч, вышли симпатичные картинки с членами, хотите?
#нсфв
#нсфв
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Guys, i hope you remember, that art matters. No matter if it's small or big, drawn, written or performed. Doesn't matter if it's in a gallery or in your sketchbook, on a stage or in your room. It matters. It's what makes us human. And you should keep going, as long as you enjoy doing it
❤9
Forwarded from zeyreez but like annoying cat yk?
НУ ЭТО ТАМ ЭЭ ЛУЧШИЙ ПОДАРОК, ВСЕ ДЕЛА 🥺
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честно говоря, святой ужас а не год, и как же мне жаль, что вышло настолько мало адекватных полноценок, но я потихоньку карбакуюсь, Я ЕЩË НЕ СДАЛСЯЯЯЯ о7
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честно говоря, святой ужас а не год, и как же мне жаль, что вышло настолько мало адекватных полноценок, но я потихоньку карбакуюсь, Я ЕЩË НЕ СДАЛСЯЯЯЯ о7