deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Allure of a Stab Wound
I hate that blood dries brown.
The rich redness fades into an ugly burnt orange,
Sheer and dry.
I hate that skin heals.
My cells slowly stitching my skin back together,
Leaving behind an ugly purplish line.
I hate that I know.
That everyone else knows.
Blinking up at myself,
Bacteria swirling in the smell of copper.
Lapping at the puddle of slickness,
Saliva mixing with clotting blood.
Nursing my wounds,
Hoping the skin is numb enough to feel like it’s someone else.
Survival of the fittest,
Evolutionary purpose.
I can’t remember when they just stopped bleeding,
When I just stopped feeling it.
Etched into the side of my body,
The map to full enlightenment and a memoir written in scar tissue.
Published 24th Jul 2024
Author's Note
Feeling nostalgic over a bullet wound and a dead end.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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24th Jul 2024 10:52am
25th Jul 2024 2:57am
Holy damn, that WAS riveting! The apathy you show, the lack of care of your physical harm, is chilling and delicious in context.
You painted a hell of a picture, in which the spirit just stopped caring what happened to the body. Great job!
You painted a hell of a picture, in which the spirit just stopped caring what happened to the body. Great job!
