Thursday, January 6, 2011

blood

Every word
is a cut
slice
poke.
The blood pours
flows
trickles
until at last
I'm paper white
with nothing left
to give.

2 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

Every poem is a friggin struggle. The words aren't there. I'm trying to post as much as possible, but hell.

Brent Vogelman said...

I hear you on this one. I like the image of the speaker turning paper white as his blood is spilled on the page. Well played. This blog sort of reminds me of a scene from the movie Fight Club when people are thanking Tyler for creating it, yet they have broken noses and cuts on their face. So thanks Chris!