A stream of blood,
running down my arm.
Away from me.
Drops to the white marble below,
landing,
precise and scarlet.
Swipe,
rewarded with a once white,
now crimson towel.
The wound is shallow;
it will heal.
But will my mind ever?
Run, Run, Run
A stream of blood,
running down my arm.
Away from me.
Drops to the white marble below,
landing,
precise and scarlet.
Swipe,
rewarded with a once white,
now crimson towel.
The wound is shallow;
it will heal.
But will my mind ever?