bliumchik | Ode to skillfully bashing my hip into a handrail on the bus.

Bruises are pretty. Pretty like snow. And blood. And blood-spattered snow. It's funny, really, that I've seen more bruises in my life than blood and snow combined. I've never seen blood-spattered snow except in the movies. I don't really want to see it in real life, because that would mean I was standing in snow, and somebody was bleeding. I don't like bleeding. I just like blood. It's such a pretty colour.

Bruises are a nice kind of painful, too. Oh, not getting bruises, that's unpleasant and hurts like seven kinds of ow, but once you have one... wel, it is so pretty, all blue and green beneath the skin, and you just can't resist the urge to prod it. And it doesn't hurt badly, when you do, more a kind of ache like massages and the sound of bells.

I couldn't tell you why it's funny, it just is.