Who Will Wipe This Blood Off Us?A Poem by EthanHide-and-go peek.Slice my skin and peel the layers back, Tabula razor, bleached onion. Poor and white as melting snow, The shavings slip off smoothly. Ah, the air stings my insides. Plasma, run true. Strike your mark With delicious drops of goodness, Pollock, Quentin, Jean-Luc. Il n'est pas de sang, il est rouge. To bleed or not to bleed, that is digestion. Blood, blood, wet my feet. Spread your paint across my sheet So I can finally fall asleep. © 2017 EthanAuthor's Note
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25 Reviews Added on July 29, 2017 Last Updated on July 29, 2017 Tags: poetry, prose, free verse, blood, death, skin, reflection Author
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