bloody

like a shaman’s eyes with coals strung

or a hot exhale from the devil’s lung 

like a scab poked with wet appetite

or the colour of fresh pain glistening bright

like a staring contest with the noon sun

or cordite corneas from a shotgun

like a slow blunt razor to the wrist

a gory gawking spray of mist

my pupils pathetic, dance and drip red

(aye look how these whites have bled)

crimson cruel, ochre obscene

from bloody texts that can’t be unseen.

(Image courtesy hospitaldrive.org)

spent

words lay bruised in a crumbled heap
like bodies with no one to mourn or weep
quietly passed night and inaudibly went day
and still there was nothing left to say.

(Image courtesy Harvard Business Review)