i have not si'd in awhile and hope to reach a year soon. when i was active i wrote a poem trying to explain here it goes:

i stare into the pool of warm blood.
Where is my reflection?
the vacant expression in my eyes.
there is none. no face looking back at me.
the dark, congealing blood forms a mini whirpool
as it flows freely down the drain.
i cannot hold the blood, preserve it in my small cold hands.
it is boundless.
it disappears down the rusted pipes, running
like a frigid mountain stream down a sleep slope.
nothing stops it; it is free to go.
and with it goes my unrelenting pain.