Poetry: I Bled Here

I take the words
razor blades really
turn them over
and over
until my head drips
scarlet red
bleeding profusely
onto the keyboard
liable to short-circuit
any minute now.

Fingers slippery and
sticky trying to find
each letter
the spacebar
appropriate
punctuation.

Deep cuts ache
and throb
and drip
attract attention from
curious passerby
do not worry friend
I have kleenex
and paper towels
and if it really
gets out of control
a bath towel to
absorb this mess.

I’ll only be
a short while
I need these words
to ooze from my
wound
to drip
with purpose
to loose from
its deep confines.

Only then can
I repair this
damage
only then can
I lick the
concave keys
clean of any hint
I ever bled here.

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