Over-philosophizing a Cut On My Finger

A crimson river of sensation,
Set against the pale tiles,
Pieces of a broken life,
Tears of my essence.

A feeling of loss and relief,
Pressure slowly draining,
Down into the dark recesses,
Of a cold, metal pipe.

I touched the smiling flesh,
Stretched wide, in approval,
flashing a bone, white smile,
As if to greet me.

I need to stop the bleeding,
Silence the discontent,
Save what makes me whole,
And remember the sensation.