Crimson Floods

A slit throat—
blood trickles,
escaping in tides.

Will they notice
before the crimson floods
sneak from beneath the door,
staining their shoes?

Likely they’ll wipe them clean,
and live on.

Until a week later,
when the scent of rotting flesh disrupts,
creeping into their lungs.

They’ll burn it all,
sweep and mop the floor,
cleanse the world of the remnants,
and live on.