The Past is a River of Blood
A rushing river, deep and wide, and there’s nothing on the other side but more blood, maybe some of it dried.
I’m always covered with blood, not having the capability to escape completely my past. Only recently it’s been mostly dry, crusting, falling off in flakes and sometimes clumps. Recently I’ve been doing all right.
Until today. Today I jumped into the river once again, swam in it for an hour or more. Swallowed so much blood I almost got sick with it. I still might. Now I’m covered once again in deepest red, dripping from every orifice, every pore. My legs are still kicking, trying to get to the shore of the present. But what’s the use?
Blood stains are impossible to clean.
Laters
I’m always covered with blood, not having the capability to escape completely my past. Only recently it’s been mostly dry, crusting, falling off in flakes and sometimes clumps. Recently I’ve been doing all right.
Until today. Today I jumped into the river once again, swam in it for an hour or more. Swallowed so much blood I almost got sick with it. I still might. Now I’m covered once again in deepest red, dripping from every orifice, every pore. My legs are still kicking, trying to get to the shore of the present. But what’s the use?
Blood stains are impossible to clean.
Laters
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