I joke about being dead inside, but it's true. What feels like forever ago I was cut open for the first time. After bleeding for a while, your wounds heal. But it's amazing how many wounds you get in such a short lifetime. How many wounds you get while striving to do no harm. After you've been sliced open enough times, I suppose you stop bothering to seal yourself back up. So you bleed. And bleed. And bleed. You get used to the mess. A lot of people are squeamish, it makes sense. You get used to seeing the world in red. There are in fact different colors, but sometimes it's hard to remember. I see red so well that I can see it running under other people's skin. It's scary to know how to topple a person like a tower. To know exactly where to cut, exactly which block to pull out. I'd never do that though. Bleeding isn't fun, like sleeping and eating are. It's draining even when you're already empty and there's nothing left. Just marrow I suppose. Marrow without a moment to rest. So, maybe it isn't exactly true that I'm empty, there is something there. But can an outpouring cup ever be filled?