Sunday, January 23, 2011

Winter Red

I stepped on a shard of broken glass in the winter,
and my foot-skin tore and cried gore
into the snow
and there was no pain because it was so cold
but the red was still bright
despite the white.

I would've, if I could've and I should've--I know--
but I didn't. I didn't seal the cut,
or clean the mess
I just...

I let it run. Run and be done
because it was fun.
It was as fun as a ton of iron blasts from a gun
when you're caught and distraught
for having fought
and stolen a life.

So when the red turned blue in my toe
and the blood crystalized
to crimson ice,
I shook like a leaf
and shrieked with grief
And closed the cut
in my gut I knew,
that the moment was gone,
I am dead to the world the way my blood
is sealed inside my skin,
And the one chance at freedom
died when my blood crystalized.

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