Finger The Vein

only the cursed doubt
the thickness of their bloodline,
whilst the revered whisper behind
broken backs with blazing clarity
all the mistaken parables of
so-called Paradise, now
doused with heated veins,
encased with worn pelts
and high-waters,
ravaged by the caustic winds of
honey and rage, the doubters
finger their veins for a pulse,
as those with high-regard
frolic aimlessly among the
crimson tides of love and hope,
mournfully passing by the downhearted.