I wonder how long before this bleeding stops.
My salty tears, no longer antiseptic,
Sting like spilled acid on fresh lacerations.
How much longer can I walk around,
A threadbare sack of macerated flesh,
Before my naive bones no longer move?
The person I was is now unrecognizable,
Carrying gutted insides with cradled arms.
Will these rusted blood eagle wings
Release me from my cruel fate? I ask.
While they sharpen a knife to sever my spine.
But what’s another stab wound, anyway?
I’m already dead.
