Two shots fired. Pop, pop Everything slows.
I can feel my heartbeat throughout my entire body, everywhere, right down to my toes.
Tell me, have you seen a bullet penetrate the skin? Rip through flesh?
I hope for your sake that your answer is no. One push and one release. Crimson liquid. Flowing fast So bright, so fresh.
Smell the iron. Its scent: rich and thick.
How would I describe it consistency? Slick.
My hands are red and sticky from trying too hard,
I can feel them losing grip around your wrists.
Whose blood is it, anyway?
Dripping on the concrete,
Swirling down the drain,
Staining our soles.
Is it mine or is it yours?
Blood is made for promising:
I will keep my blood
I will love my family
And I will love my blood.
I have but lonely pints of blood
And pints of lovely life.
one glass incardenine
To sip for all time,
And make it last all night.
I will not fill my blood with wine
Or rage or boiling spite.
For when I am done
the blood shall run
And love shall step aside.
I have cages below me
I float above them
My antigravitational force being my belief that I am superior
U take my blade and look at the captives in my cages
It seems to be close to feeding time
Throwing themselves agaisnt my cages
So I take out my blade
Letting them feed on the drops of blood pouring down my arm
They are sated
Lityle so they know
Ther is POSION IN MY BLOOD
My heart had fallen empty
to a point where it was dead
It wouldn't beat for me
and the blood filled me instead
My head had overflown
with the crimson paint inside
An ugliness had grown
from my bloody water slide
The blood just kept on raining
from my tear ducts and slit throat
I used my blood for painting
as I scribbled you this note
More blood drawn for no apparent reason.
Things may be okay, but I am not.
My body will be my canvas, that nobody will see.
My scars will be a masterpiece, but only in my dreams.
I want the pain.
Or is it pleasure?
Since I get so much joy from the crimson blood forming on my thigh.
I am a masochist.
I want it, I need it.
Rushing through my veins
Pumping to my heart
Driving me insane
Giving me this life
Giving me my breath
Filling me with strife
Why am I still standing?
What do I have here?
Why am I so different?
I am only a mere
Filled with blood
Filled with flesh
And all these bones
Flooding my insides
Filling up my lungs
There's nowhere I can hide
you are the blood in my mouth
the kind that settles into the cavities of my teeth
i brush them twice a day
they rot easy
it stains me red and makes me spit
i haven't bled like this since the fourth grade
my knee splitting across a no parking sign
it ran like the beads of water that race
across car windshields
i don't know how you did it
a kick to the jaw
snapping the bones underneath my face
i've been told i have my father's chin
blunt and strong
he tells me to write about something i don't usually write about
so i choose what is ugly
you slip the sandpaper beneath my skin
so that with every step
every reach of my arm
i will feel it burn against my insides
beneath the friction
i turn blue with cold
I once struck a man in anger, with a small statuette.
I dropped it to the floor as he fell, too, and watched the blood flow from his head.
Though as I gazed at the pool of crimson and began to realize what I had done,
I felt a snap and saw a vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was inside his body, flowing, coursing, full of life and giving life.
He grew to raise a family, love his wife, and love his kids.
He helped his coworkers and encouraged them.
He donated to charities, and those charities helped many.
Some of those many improved their lives and helped many more.
As his sons, daughters, wife, and coworkers also were given life by him and gave life,
I saw his blood flow into their veins and spread, infecting countless others with love.
Houses filled with light and laughter
Streets were peopled by happy beings.
A woman comforted a girl in the loss of a friend, holding the sobbing face to her caring chest.
A poor man gave his only coat to a cold orphan boy on the curb, smiling through weathered lips.
I saw all this life,
And it was an ocean.
A flash of light and sound, and I saw another vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was outside his body, flowing, coursing, void of life and stealing life.
As it touched me, I joined it as blood, boiling and bubbling with hate.
As our blood ran down the busy metropolis street of life, it would touch people it came across.
When it did so, they would melt also into a mass of red, splashing outward, and infecting others.
Everyone touched would gasp and turn to scarlet, turning the shop-lined street into a river of blood.
Countless lives were consumed in this manner.
At one point, I finally pooled at the bottom of the street, and stared back from where I came.
The street was now dark and desolate, the bustling life gone.
The shops empty, the skies grey, the ground littered.
A finch plucked strands from a red-stained straw hat, to make a bed of death.
A mangy alley dog lapped up the blood that still coated the street, becoming only more hideous.
And all was quiet, and I was utterly alone, but for the screams of their blood in my ears.
I saw all this death,
And it was an ocean.
A jolt, and I opened my eyes.
I found myself staring at the blood running from the man’s head in front of me.
A few seconds later and I realized again what I had done.
But I realized something else as well.
I tore my shirt and tightly wrapped his head in the cloth.
I lifted him up and took him to the hospital.
There I sat and awaited my punishment.
And took joy in life.
This poem was written March 15, 2012.