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It could be getting to me, he says.

If madness is exponential,

When will I be gone, he asks.

 

Shh! I hear the color of my veins,

Begin to change.

See! I watch the boom of my heart,

Slow and cease.

 

Oh love, he says.

If fear is without sight,

When does it blindly wander?

 

Shh! Hear the red behind my eyes,

Eat at vision.

See! Watch the rattle of my nerves,

Inside these limbs.

 

It could be getting to me, he whispers.

If love is within hate,

When does your blood wash from my hands?