Bleeding Hands

October 29, 2015
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But when you left you left

stains

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

demolished

sliced it

diced it

chopped it into cubes you

served it

on a cold metal plate-

you feasted

devoured

slurped it; I was

a delicacy.

 

You clawed your nails into my

tender flesh

spun me 'round

on a fingertip

fiddled

gnawed

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

bruises

on hips

sunk talons into clutched thighs

scabs and scars on skin

I've been printed painted

disguised

in red hands

they haven't faded

and I'm not sure they will

you manipulated

maneuvered

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 

susceptive

and

bleeding hands,

always have been and

continue to be part of your absurd

and irrational plan.






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