Blood

Often times what I write is not voluntary, it is taken from me. Like sweat flying from the brow of a boxer that has just been struck, Only it’s not always sweat. This violent process becomes more serious when red fills and mixes with the clear beads of water. Many if not all of us have seen blood leaving our bodies, how many of us have seen it forced from us. A blow or event removing a vital part of life from your body. Watching this thick mysterious fluid being forced out, As it flows or is flung from you to eternally stain whatever it is to land on. This liquids ability to permanently contaminate immediately on impact seems poetic. The red blotches mark our past inhibiting us from forgetting. We all have memories running to a sink or the nearest towel to avoid inconveniencing those around us or ourselves, we have to be careful where we bleed. Not only due to its difficulty to remove there is also the fact that others don’t want to see it. For fear of realising mortality, eyes are quickly averted. Only two kinds of people want to see you bleed, those with villainous or mocking intent and ones who truly care. Either of these are terrifying. There is no hiding the blood that is struck from us. Count on it showing, count on it staining.

One thought on “Blood

  1. It’s rare that I read a passage here that doesn’t leave me speechless. From each piece I can just feel emotion dripping from the words. This is poetry. And this is how it should feel. I’ll be anticipating reading your work in the future, very impressed.

    Like

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