Let The Blood Dry

By Katherine Meikle

I never thought that it would hurt me.

So soft, these stitches on my skin,

and your silk bandage hands

wrap around my throat, 

my mind,

like rope.

Take another bite, I dare you.

Does my heart still taste as sweet?

Spitting pips on the bathroom floor,

I hold my own hair back, 

because you never did before.

Greedy little fucker,

still coming back for more.

Don’t.

Don’t worry. 

I promise I won’t make you sick. 

And nurses and doctors never think they do such damage,

I wonder what the taxidermist thinks. 

Is he a saint or a savage?

When these soft stitches come undone

will he still be there to gaze upon his creation

and marvel at the work he’s done?

At least let the blood dry.

But you keep digging at the wound,

keep pick, pick, picking at the scab

and it keeps 

drip, dripping in my lap.

Take another shot, I dare you.

You never broke your shattered promise, oh no look at it there,

it’s perfectly fine 

on the bathroom floor.

Smearing my insides on the bathroom floor.

All those cracks and fractures are 

only in my mind,

And that hard metal casing is just 

the gift you left behind.

Aren’t I grateful? Aren’t you kind?

All the tears I shed 

rolling off your well-oiled back.

A cocky Mallard, 

floating over the surface of everyone’s emotion.

Going through the motions

of love.

On my cheek there may still be

the traces of everyone who hurt me,

like rosy kisses after a storm.

They echo on my skin, 

upon my face

the scars made like the waves upon the shore,

carved through stone,

my skin and bone

still 

remember you.

By Katherine Meikle