Skip to content

Poison Blood by James Morehead

July 3, 2011

Poison Blood

by James Morehead

They try to touch me:
the hand creeps closer, warily
but shivers away
from my flashing canine smile.

"Oh! Chelsey doesn't want to play!"
and they leave me,
alone,
with my hidden patch of curdled blood and torn skin.

It hurts;  mud hardens in the wound,
prevents the healing,
spreads the poison
from the mark of rapid jaws.

Yet they still love me,
the naive, blinded fools.

One tries to tempt me away,
with offered meat;
I'm blinded too --
the poison blood flows strong.
I take the hand;
the meat falls to the floor, newly red.
There is no cry, yet terror fills the silence.
My madness clears, the broken hand falls.
Shattering slivers of glass caress my arching spine,
shimmering splinters puncture my side.
Before the poison controls,
I turn to the road.

The headlights carve deep into my sick eyes.
Lying down, I fight my rapid blood
for a torture of seconds,
as death hurtles towards me.

Next in Excerpts from Viewless Wings

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s