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Red by the Window


by published


I wander off into the wild
Now and then
To find solace in aloneness.
They ask,
“What have you done to yourself?”
They ask me,
But not to themselves.

I've painted the world red
With ink from veins I have cut.
Ferociously, mine.
And I've decorated walls with bones
Blood drips from them
Raw and, mine.
I've painted my death.

They watch from behind black curtains
They rejoice, shout cries of victory
As nothing breaks my fall.
And in front of me
With curious eyes
And feigned pity
They ask,
“What have you done to yourself?”
As if they do not know
What they've done.

What I've done you ask?
I have become what they said.