The Black Blood

The red curtain rises

There’s blood on the stage floor

A pale warm hand is still,

A finger pointing to the audience;

And this is how her life began -

With a murder and a show. 

I’m a soul without a body,

Or a body without a heart…

Either way, I’m doomed

Without you.

I was there when she fell. It was a slow and soft affair, with a gentle flurry of white skirts and long black hair.

The dove-grey sand was wet with the passing of the tide, and it stretched out for miles to catch her.

She had looked like a flower, free of the branch. Death took her gently, and with such love that put my own to shame. 

Death took her gently, and I did not protest. 

Alex’s nails are a bright cobalt blue. He hides them, along with his hands, deep inside his pockets most of the time. His shoe rack doesn’t house a single pair of flip-flops. 

Dylan’s eyes are a startling emerald green. They’re certainly more difficult to hide, but he manages with black wire-rimmed glasses and dark wayfarers when the sun is high. 

Nate’s hair is a shocking firestone red. He meticulously shears it short, slicks it back, and stuffs it all under a cheap visored cap. 

.

In a world that only ever knew black and white and the occasional greyscale, the only colors worn by humans were from the blood of the gods that they killed. 

We are sinners, you and I,

And I have sinned the worse -

For loving you with all my heart

Until the day I died.

.

And in these depths of hell

I love you still.

My little piece of heaven, oh -

How it burns my soul!

For the first time in a long time

I really don’t know what to say.

.

Do I mention how your whispers

Echoed in the night

Amid the snores and snuffles, sirens and

Dinosaur-like wailing of the truck brakes outside?

.

Or,

That I felt your touch on my skin

Where the moonbeams lay down their light

Soft and cool, and feeling more real than

The crick in my shoulder, and the textbook

Digging into my hip?

.

Or,

That I can swear I heard you say:

“Go to Sleep, love.” late last night, after studying

For a quiz the next day,

Your words floating above the

Slurred and drunken singing of the

Idiots downstairs?

(“Go to Sleep,” you said, like Sleep really was a person

Who waited with open arms and

A warm embrace - 

And that I replied a sleepy “Yesss..”?)

.

Or,

That I dreamed of you that night,

Clear and vivid, like

Drinking down a hot fruit drink

But then I rolled over in bed,

Opened my eyes to the rising sun

And forgot everything that happened?

.

Or maybe,

I should just ask the questions?

Who are you?

What are you?

Why are you doing this to me?

Wait, what are you doing to me,

Exactly?

Why am I in love with someone

Who I don’t even —

.

And then, 

You kissed me.

I felt it, right after taking

My first waking breath,

Taking away all the words that were,

And questions that could have been.

.

Like I said.

I really don’t know what to say.

You eat up all my words

Like little yellow flowers

Crunching in your mouth,

Lined with warm wet kisses

For teeth. 

To my dearest Soulmate:

Happy Valentine’s Day,

I love you, and oh -

You’re the only one for me. 

I dreamt of you in irons,

And that I was the one

Who put you in them.

I woke up - 

And went right back to sleep.

Startling.

I believe that’s the word.

.

He was in a deep black button-down polo, with a bright silver Parker pen peeking out from his 2nd button, framed by a long crisp white doctor’s coat.

His was a sombre yet good-natured face, and a soft melodic chuckle. Boyish, really, but subdued. 

Walking leisurely down a long corridor, he brought to my mind Death, like no other. 

..

Oh yes, flowers bloomed and choirs sang when I set eyes on him at that moment - 

But these flowers were sharp - with needle-like thorns scattered along their hard stems, and fine pennate petals of strong solid color..

The kind of flowers that bloomed in wintertime. 

And these choirs were not the rounded cotton-filled voices of sated cherubim nor lovers in the rain..

The music that accompanied him was high and full and piercing, like a singular lament that strummed taut the desert wind.

…

Startling.

For there was no other word.

Do not tread upon my heart

By entering uninvited..

For the floor is wet and muddy,

The walls are caked with dust,

The windows barred and broken,

And the ceiling caving in..

And most importantly because

It is my heart,

My heart,

My heart..

My one and only heart.