Feed on Me

Your desperation leads you to cut open the hand and drink its fluids.
The hand remains calm, unbeknownst to the harvest occurring.
The knife you once wished would end the suffering cuts open the thick layer of skin and you delve into the flesh.
Your newfound strength gives you purpose, for you have escaped death.
The hand that now lay before you begins to reconstruct itself for the next lonely tortured soul who crosses its path.
Like a twisted catalyst color returns to your mind once more.