Blushing Blood

Oh how ironic it is to hate the sound of metal scraping
against pavement, but loving the taste of
Metalic blood, shiny and shimmering
Like a midnight summer’s glow
of water washing, brushing against the sun’s blush

Not sure why I stayed so long, pushing
my own body in a wooden wheeled wagon
Like a ghost carrying it’s own corpse
I was, but no longer am I
drowning in my own skin

Free, and as our bodies need us
Not all of us need them
Maybe that’s why some people
Are able to open their third eye and
be in touch with their ever so fleeting sense of soul


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