Free Hand #4

The blood that seeps into

Cracks and crevices of rock and stone.

Tile, carpet, wood. Painting painting

Painting the night with a sweetest, irony

Scent. Touch the edge, smear the finger tips. 

Rouge the red, on the bathroom floor.

Parts of you, parts of us all, in the blood

On the floor. 

—————————————

If you’re reading this, thank you for taking time out of your day to read my writing. I hope you return in the future.

-Alina

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