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Black Blood Rising
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Poetry Laying in my bed....
It's two in the morning.
The taste of cigarettes hangs on my breath.
The scent of sex and candy lingers in the air.
I know I'm bleeding without feeling,
Letting the blood drip one... two... three, onto clean bedsheets.
It's black blood that runs,
Flowing like a river of ebony ink,
Dripping from secret places with a subliminal mean.
I'll let it stain the linen,
Fingers catching it, staring to find what meaning it has.
So visceral yet so inhuman,
Tastes so delicious and foreign.
I'll bleed as I fall asleep,
All beause I know you made me bleed in ecstacy,
And let the black blood seal this deal of love.
