where’s the blood?
the warmth i’m missing,
where’s your hand to hold on to
when i leave.
when i leave, i’ll be crawling to the exit leaving a trail
like a slimy snail
with my shell cracked open and the fluids leaking.
like a snail, the salt wounds me, making me die of a salty death.
like a snail.
the blood has drained my humanity
and it’s on your hands.