Shiny

Slash. Drip. Slash. Drip.
You're right back where you started, but nowhere near at all. Start the cleanup now, little surgeon. Minimise the damage while you can. Skin stings and smells of antiseptic and I know you'd like to think it cleans your soul as well, but you're still in the gutter.
Trace a path through the crisscross mishmash mess. Back to the start; back to the root. There's too much inside. Like everything under your skin is clawing at the surface, desperate for air. Too much thought.
But then... Something fast and sharp; a moment of focus. Something fucking vibrant. Suddenly, you're there. You're actually fucking there, and you know you're there because you can feel it. Isn't this what you've been wanting?
Maybe I'll never stop, in the complete sense of the term. Never forever. Right now, though... I'm not trying to. The lake is calm.
You are right back where you belong. Nowhere near at all.