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Are You Bleeding?

Does the blood run down your arm,

With the softest touch?

Do the drops of blood

Stain the carpet with its crimson glow?

It Flows into rivers, do you hear your

Soft whimpers?

The infection around your arm

is the only thing keeping you alive,

but is gnawing at your flesh,

begging you to die.

Flies begin to feast

On your rotting frame,

Eating from your frozen fingertips,

All the way to your molding brain.

Wasp eggs that were planted in your stomach,

Come out of your half-eaten lips,

To taste the lonely taste of death

So you may go to rest.

But, may I ask, what does it taste like?

The bloodshed of thousands of ancestors before you?

The untold secrets of the great unknown?

The cries of babies that have yet to be born?

Or the wasps implanting more eggs into

Masticated stomach,

Now called their home?

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