Rubbing Blood Over Skin


Unattainable silence
Bursting from within
Disingenuous chatter

I remember coming downstairs to a well to do breakfast
The foreboding sound of the dishwasher fills the kitchen
Rings in my ear
Comforts my fear
Face to face with a pile of dishes
Disintegrating into sand
A bank of sand, gravel, and problems
Handful of sand through my fingers
Every grain of sand tickling the in-betweens of my claws
Claws I’ve spent years sharpening to a point
I know because I’ve cut myself
False sense of safety
When the last grain eroded from my finger
I began to bleed
Dwindling in my ineffectual attempt at finding the source
Rubbing blood over skin
Befuddled with overanalyzed anger
Wiping the scum off of a stupefied living
We cry out

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