Bleeding Hands

October 29, 2015
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But when you left you left


red prints on my back

shadows of hands

on new jackets

tick tack toe scratches on skin-

was it always a game 

to you?


I handed over my heart at

its most vulnerable 

trusted you

with its delicate package

don't crease the wrapping you didn't

you destroyed it


sliced it

diced it

chopped it into cubes you

served it

on a cold metal plate-

you feasted


slurped it; I was

a delicacy.


You clawed your nails into my

tender flesh

spun me 'round

on a fingertip



on feeble edges

sunk your teeth into my core

chewed me up

like gum

spat me out when you felt I'd

lost flavour-

was I always a chew toy?


But when you left you left

teeth marks

on collarbones


on hips

sunk talons into clutched thighs

scabs and scars on skin

I've been printed painted


in red hands

they haven't faded

and I'm not sure they will

you manipulated


spines out of scale I can't

stand straight

hunched over face to feet

beaten battered back bones

every inch of me aches

contrived by your 



bleeding hands,

always have been and

continue to be part of your absurd

and irrational plan.

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