Was I an accident?

The words sound different,
Spoken not thought;
Open and exposed.

I pull a large thorn from my heel
And feel the sweet pain
And watch the blood
Spill out into the world.

Do you love me?

Another one-
As the pain and blood
Set each other free.

Anger gushes from my wounds and pools at my feet.

How am I to blame?
I am not
And never have been
The creator of all problems.

And if you don't like me
Well it's your own fucking fault
Because you made me
I am yours; like it or not.

For now my feet are cleansed in blood
Someday I will leave you all behind--
But until then, I walk barefoot in a field of thorns.

The End

3 comments about this poem Feed