Blood can be somewhat pretty...

Inhale....exhale.........
Inhale.........exhale.........
Hold the last breath a little longer,
then let go, all of it, slowly.
Let it all go till there's nothing left.

I open my eyes, and look side to side.
Nobody's around, I'm all alone,
and I hear nothing coming my way.
It's almost sunset, and the world is orange.

I hold up my fists, study them, and try to
get past the sight of blood on my knuckles.
I'm trying to unclench them, but
the blood is holding my fingers together,
like some kind of insane glue.

The fingers let go, the blood...not
quite dried out, and still sticky, like
cool syrup, from your half eaten morning
pancakes, with a smell almost as sweet.

My reddened palms glisten slightly in
the waining sunlight, when I turn
them...this way and that way.
Blood can be somewhat pretty, sometimes,
when it fills every line and groove in your skin.

I turn slowly, and look down the slope,
down into the ditch, where I left the body.
There, in the tall grass, all pale and face up,
laying among leaves and tossed foam cups.

Her blue eyes are open, looking up into
the sky, and her mouth parted, as though
she suddenly stopped in mid sentence.
Her once beautiful dark hair is disheveled,
from the pulling and dragging through the mud.

There is blood at the corner of her mouth.
The blood ran down her cheek, and
down her slim neck, over her shoulder,
and dripped down into the grass beneath her.

That her life is gone is of no matter to me.
That I will not be able to hold her anymore,
brings a hurt to my heart, and a tear to my eye.
All she had to do was love me forever,
and never, ever, think, or even dare...not to.