A Poem

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Drops of blood
Lead everywhere
From cracks in pavement
To the spidery lines of split lips
 
The drops hide in those cracks
And lines.
They are wiped away
And forgotten.
 
But some people can’t forget the way
The sharp red looked.
An outline of determination
Or fear.
Or the way it felt.
Or their own drops.
 
The ones who do forget
Do it to preserve themselves.
They can’t recall it.
Won’t recall it.
 
But the cracks
And the lines
And the drops
They remember.

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