Corpses: Day Eighteen of a Poem a Day

Ain’t enough there’s blood on the inside of my soles.
Ain’t enough there’s blood on the inside of my soul.
Trip me on this blade-thin line of normalcy and lunacy.

I never was one for walking straight, but now I walk crooked
because this path I’m going down is headed southbound.
It bends and crooks. I held your dying body for just a minute,
grazed my fingertips across your lacy skin; the sallowness
reminded me of how it felt to be dead just for a moment in time.

Never tell me when enough is enough.
A fight is just a fight until there’s blood.
Ain’t enough there’s blood on the inside
of my soles.
Ain’t enough there’s blood on the inside
of my soul.

No telling when something in me has changed.
I held your corpse together when everybody disbanded.
I held your memories together when the rubber bands burst.

A fight is just a fight until there’s blood.
Ain’t enough there’s blood.
Ain’t enough there’s broken promises in the streets.

 

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