Blood

Ones look for moments,
for hearts that stop beating -
me looking for a moment
my heart can stop bleeding -
sitting in a corner,
a soul left alone,
by design, created by
a situation only I own.
A heart that pours blood,
a mind numb to it,
the pain not recognized,
the acknowledgement inconclusive.
Blood pours from every
available emotional orifice,
an amusing prospect from
the outsiders viewing the circus.
The choking on the blood
now curdles with extra rising bubbles
soon to kill me here
and yet the least of all my troubles.
An eye that sees black
in a surrounding white
hoping for the worst,
the crushing and theft of light.
I wallow in that misery,
eagerly awaiting a death,
much anticipated and yearned for
with every remaining breath.