The skin is split and torn and yet I can’t feel a thing. It’s a funny thing when pain is no longer an object of affection. Something that we can always count on being, disappears. The red love drips like molasses down my leg and I watch the flow. This is my battle wound, why would I want to wipe away the success of my peers? Blood is a lovely thing, something that we all need, something that keeps us upright and alive. So why do so many cower in fear at the sight? The blood will stop it always does, so don’t worry mother I will be fine. I watch as something meant for inside comes out. I am fascinated with red. The color of fear and love mixed into one. My skin is split and torn and I can’t find a reason to mourn.
Red
More by Crow
-
Labels
When you label someone you put them in a box.
A child has to be innocent, a woman has to be perfect, a man has to be strong. All these labels that we have for everything and anything. -
Perfectly Imperfect
People have always told me that I’m perfect. I’m this shiny object that doesn’t have an imperfection in sight. But people don’t know that nobody is perfect, and that even seemingly perfect people have cracks. -
Mother Knows Best
Mother knows best. That’s what they always say. But what happens when she doesn’t know best, what then. I am left out in the sea whirling as the currents push me this way and that.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.