Blood Hides Dressed in Red.

Welcome to my second post on the new Blog-Machine. Tonight, a free-form poem reflecting the subconscious. Please enjoy.





"Blood Hides Dressed in Red."

There's a bug in my mouth.
He has a venomous stinger
and wings white
like teeth.

Sometimes, when I breathe,
you can almost taste the vinegar
in the air,
sometimes, you can almost see
the fog.

Don't. Now. Stop. Ah.
bang bang bang bang.
four down, one
to go two
still lingering.

Even bullets fired into the air have to land in something.

"See, that's the thing. We all have the same parts, we're just put together differently. Some of us have hands where our feet should be, some of us feel with our heads and think with our hearts, and some of us don't think or feel much at all. It's all part of the great experiment, part of the song that's being written about us. We're each just individual notes in a larger composition."

There's a bug in my mouth.

Some nights, the raindrops hit
the windshield with the same force and cadence
of the drums on the song on you're playing.
And in that moment, things make sense.