Shiny blade—registers in my brain 
Absent is the sound of pain or even the precision
A precision so exact it deforms into urgency
Like a calm, docile thing to transform to a raging beast
With dulled, powerful fangs and crimson coverings upon its torso
Absent is the thin slicing of epidermis
The only sound is of tinkering glass and laughter
Turned ugly, brutal, dark, murderous

I should bleed ink, ebony, ink
Diluted blue like my numerous veins
Or maybe red with X’s of wrong marks
On my failures of tests, quizzes, life

I should bleed flowers from
Powdery red to the entire spectrum
Ending with rain battered petals that have drowned
In their hues; bleached and ending in nothing
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

I should bleed tears,
Stingy and salty, bitter and sweet,
What I have been doing all those nights
Under the curtains while
Insisting that I was only playing with the wind
Uttering that the wind was mean,
Blowing things into my eyes, causing me to tear
But the words The Girls uttered were worse
Taunts were harsher, shame was stronger

The pulse roars as my arteries dilates
Rushing and pounding—in my head
Like a lion ready to pounce on
unsuspecting deer. But this time, I was well aware
I bleed blood, thick and red with tinges of Iron
In my vision; I am only human