rivers of red

shattered
every mirror
hidden
reflections
unattractive
except when
i bleed
a freakshow
oddity
spitting
into the
wind
complaining
about the
rain.

the crimson
runs
down my
ugliness
attracting
horseflies
seeking
easy
game
in between
spasmodic
convulsions
of poetic
emptiness.

when you
close
your eyes
i am
the only
thing
that
ceases to
exist
an afterimage
of a stain
flashing
inside of
your
eyelids.

maybe if i
charged
to cut
the fool
there
would be
a line
around the
block
but as is
just me
and the
tumbleweeds
sitting
in misery
together
turning the
dust into
rivers of red.

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