She ran a hand through her hair
There was a bump
She picked at it
All day
How did it get there?
The bump on her head
So she picked at it
Poked at it
How did it get there?
Then a trickle
A wet spot
On her cheek
How did it get there?
And the next time she felt for her bump
It was wet
How did it get there?
How did it get there?
It was blood
Raw
Red
Writhing
It fell
Dripping
Off of her chin this time
How did it get there...
From her head
It was attacking her
Get off
Get OFF!
She scratched and drove her fingers at the red
At the raw
At the writhing
But it just
Came
Back
Streaming
Down
And she worked her fingers
Into the red
Pulling it apart
As to ensure she was safe
Dear God
Protect me from the red
Protect me from the red
Protect me from the red
And it hurt
She thought
I think
But not
Not enough for us to notice
Because when we opened our mouths to scream the red poured in
Gurgling
Choking
Filling lungs
Flooding teeth
No noise
Just the blood
And breath leaves us
And it pours from our nose
And in between the cracks of our eyes
And stems from our fingernails
It will be hard
To scrub
The red
From her nails
From the bump
On her head
But she wasn't any safer
Because the red
Was biting back
And it will be
OH SO HARD
TO GET THE RED
FROM HER NAILS
AND HER TEETH
AND OUR NOSE
AND OUR LUNGS
BECAUSE WE'RE FIGHTING SO HARD AGAINST THE RED
BECAUSE IF WE DON'T KILL IT IT'LL KILL US
SO WE DROVE OUR FINGERS DOWN DEEP
INTO THE RED
FROM THE BUMP
ON OUR HEAD
BUT IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH
SO WE GRABBED THE KNIFE
AND WE DOVE OUR KNIFE DOWN DEEP
INTO The red
from the bump
on our head
and then we fell asleep
YOU ARE READING
Sometimes I Write Poems, Sometimes I Write Songs
RandomA collection of everything I've written to be posted on theprose.com. Between short stories and poetry, I think too much.
