Bloodletting – A Poem by Rowe Williams

I cut my smooth skin
and words drip out.

They pool on the hardwood
floor. Dry and congeal.
Sweet metallic scent fades.
Dark red color sickens.

I start to forget the
words. Get desperate.
I try to gather them
up. They're not the same.
I put them together anyway.
They almost fit, but

not quite. I need to
see what's inside me.

One day I'll cut and
find a novel. My last
act will be to read it. For
now, poems are enough.

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