cliché musings

i shred my skin and run it through the teeth of a knife

my blood runs and settles in a black cave by my feet

if you listen closely, you can hear an echo. wait for

the scream, or is it more of a cry.

the noise tends to be the same when it’s endlessly chattering,

strong enough to burst through the walls and fall silent,

still, finally. done. the blood waves ripple and pump

across my body until it’s nothing.

the end.

a moment of relief after a surge of energy, i did what i had

to do. remember the echo? i never do. my hands ripped

open and poured over red, slap to the floor, stinging,

the enclosures dark and looming. 

the beginning?

the rubble, cobblestone, brick, cement, mashed and destroyed,

in seconds, climbs over the puddles of leftover veins, seals

itself together. don’t worry. it’s not for long. a reservoir

of voices only needs to be filled. i wait once again

for the storm, a cycle.