Blood
22:28
Guilt runs through my veins,
through the warm, thick liquid that covers every inch of my body.
It's weighing me down.
As if the foul taste of iron in blood
had become tangible,
solidified into actual metal.
I can no longer lift myself up.
Perhaps it's time to
rip my heart out,
my beating heart that is circulating this atrocity in me.
No longer will I have a palpitating load
and all bodily functions would cease.
Then I could no longer run from the issue,
run from myself.
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