Never did I ever think that blood would want to leave.

My veins are tearing themselves open without

my permission, flowing onto bedsheets

after lovers come and go and

stop coming over.

They refuse

to stop

even after I

bandage them, after

I clean them, after I stitch them

shut over-and-over-and-over-and-over-

again. My arteries are calling gout to me with gentle

song, begging to let the red seep all over me when I'm asleep.