there is a pattern to the way blood hits the porcelain tile

tear drops, spray, or a flood

when the blade pierces your flesh

before the white hot pain has a chance to reach your brain

you watch the crimson rain down across the floor in disbelief

the drops have a delicate ruby quality

the spray arcs and catches the light

but the flood is so dark as if to be almost black as it comes in great spurts

all you can do is apply pressure to the cut

all you can do is apply pressure to the cut

sometimes

all you can do is apply pressure to the cut

and hope

drops, sprays and great gouts

apply pressure to the cut

we are all just bags of guts with a tenuous grasp on life