February 12, 2021
Floating on the surface of a thick liquid, yet I can't turn my head to see its color. I imagine it being blue like the ocean, salty like the seas that surround me and pound me into the shore when they're bored. But I can see the stains on my clothes and skin. I can see that rich, deep, red color tickling the sensitive parts of me, combing through my hair, kissing my scalp, wrapping around my ankles and wrists, bending me ways I am not made to bend. It is blood. It is all blood beneath me. Yet I pretend I float on the surface of the swaying sea. I pretend to be a boat. I pretend to be a dead fish. I pretend to be a lost floaty. I pretend to be anything other than a girl in a pool of blood. I pretend to be anything other than what I truly am. It's my favorite game to play.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PuisiI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
