There’s broken glass in my foot
clear symmetrical triangles
dangling off my foot
like a dazzling chandelier.
But pain.
like a dragons claw,
like a witches fingernail
cut deep
and the oozing, dripping,
thick scarlet liquid
seeping over the bathroom tiles,
reflects my dazed face.
Where am I?
My pale, white, finger
extends and dips into the
red
and now the lines on my hands are all
red
and my eyes blur with the color
red.
I walk down stairs.
Isn't everything romanticized?
Red flowers,
      red skin,
              red lips,
                            red breath.
But the eyes,
the eyes are red
and I suppose that is
what really impales me.