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Running with Scissors

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They say your life flashes before your eyes.

Your fist kiss, quick and simple, with that blonde kid you sat next to in class.

The party when you did more than kiss her, and you spent all night together.

Every Christmas, every birthday, every birth...

Every funeral.

The car crash that killed your Dad.

The suicide of your sister after being raped.

Every scream and whisper out of your mother's mouth.

The nights sat up on games, the nights spent sleeping.

The early mornings, the late ones.

School, college, uni.

The sunny weekends in the forest looking for Slenderman, the rainy ones hoping to hear about a random killer called Jeff.

Getting drunk with your friends, by yourself.

The blade of the knife in your leg when you got mugged that one time.

The blade of the knife in your boss' leg when he slept with your wife.

Your baby's face after being born, expressionless, lifeless.

The scissors you used to cut open your wife's cheating, lying body.

The feeling of dread as you run from your bedroom.

The trip and the fall down the stairs.

The blade of the scissors going straight through your eye.

The feeling of reliving your life.

The feeling of death.

The feeling of reliving your life...

The feeling of death...

The feeling of reliving your life...

The feeling of being stuck in a loop, reliving your life again, and again, and again...

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