Bloody Feet

My foot’s bleeding…
And it’s my fault.
I scratched open the scab.

And it won’t stop.

Pressure won’t do anything.
I put the toilet paper
Up onto the wound
And it absorbs the blood quickly,
Leaving a cold, wet feeling there
As the blood now in the tissue
Is pressed against my foot.

The paper is now
A hot crimson
With bits of ghastly white
All on it,
Almost like
Blood spatter.

It fascinates me,
The way the blood looks
On my foot.
It starts out small.
It gets bigger,
Then I soak it up
And it’s small again.
And then it’s big again.

If I refuse to sop up
The bead
For too long
And it gets too big,
It drips down the side
And ends up on the rug.

My foot’s bleeding…
And it’s my fault.
I scratched open the scab.