Bleeding Out (a poem)

A white, painted brick wall, with handprints, smears, and splatters of red across it.

At first, I bled
a lot,
profusely.

Staining relationships.
Soiling
everything.

I didn’t have to touch.
I just
spoke.

Truth runs red.
Flowing
everywhere.

It cannot be stopped,
held back,
contained.

We all heal,
in time,
eventually.

I still bleed,
now
and then.

I’m sorry
if I got some on you.

~ elr


Images: © Tsung-lin Wu, Alona Stepaniuk, Artur Kutskyi (composite by elr) | Dreamstime.com

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