When I see blood coming out of my knuckles, because of all the rage I had in my person.
Feeling how my fists hit the concrete of a wall, feeling blood coming out of my head when I hit myself to make sure all the pain and damage gets to me and not anyone else.
Watching that line of blood painting in my arm, coming from the tip of my fist, going all the way to the end of my elbow spilling blood in the floor, on my knees, with my hands in my head, grabbing my skin and hair as tight as I can, squeezing my fingers to my head trying to carve them into my skull.
Its the moment when we lose control of our body and let all the rage consume us, turning our emotional damage into physical pain.
YOU ARE READING
Drop Of Blood
PoetryJust a single drop of blood can have more meaning than you think, and with meanings, emotions come close behind.
