blood

prelude

blood,

invisible ink

seeping through the pages

of my life story

trickling profusely –

from invisible wounds,

some inflicted recently,

some from long ago

but still remain 

invisible wounds

but still wounds,

even if they 

“didn’t mean to hurt me”

blood,

having vessels of its own

but also acting as a vessel itself,

a vessel of life

pounding perpetually –

against my atria,

my ventricles,

my heart,

my source of oxygen

but sometimes i fear

i might die of asphyxiation,

if i’m not honest enough to myself

about who i am and who i want to be

blood,

telling a story of pain,

the ugly pieces of myself 

i hide from the world

flowing rapidly –

trying its best

to cover the cracks

and the permanent stains

tainting my porcelain

i try my best too,

returning its efforts,

by telling you always

“i’m okay”

instead of saying i’m not

blood,

liquid from a citrus fruit,

is it sweet?

is it sour?

as the scales of my life

tip off balance

i answer “sour”

under the illusion 

of biased prejudice

and bad blood builds up,

and it turns cold,

and i realise that 

i am not as good as i believed myself to be

blood,

falling from the eyes

of my angels

as they watch me make

mistake after mistake

blood,

always present but 

never remembered,

until i see red and 

taste iron on my lips,

until it’s too late

The Story

Blood, 

A crimson stain, 

Splatters of it, 

Tainting every step I take, 

A shadow of my footprints. 

Blood,

Smearing the path I forged, 

A testimony of my bravery and courage 

Yet it flayed me raw, 

Tearing apart skin and flesh. 

A price paid in blood, 

Be it at the cost of victory or defeat, 

Uneven and jagged gashes blossom,

As blood oozed in thick dark rivulets, 

I walk on with feet slicked with blood. 

Frantically I patched the wounds,

Yet to no avail,

As tears of blood overflowed my eyes,

As streams of blood trail marked my body,

As dry crusted blood enveloped wounds. 

Blood, 

A testament to endurance, 

A symbol of cruelty, 

A breaking of the spirit, 

An essence of life sapped away. 

My hands come away bloodied, 

A headache throbs at my forehead, 

I buried my head between my arms, 

Hugging myself close as I tasted the saltiness of my desperate tears, 

As my traumas haunt me once more. 

The brain plays cruel tricks, 

I tasted the same fear, 

Smelled the same danger, 

Heard the echoes of my worst nightmares, 

Tortures of the harrowing moments replaying endlessly.

Blood, 

I stared as it welled out from my slashed skin, 

The dagger on one hand, 

The blade still trickling with blood,

I could still feel the icy cold bite of the dagger on my skin.

Strangely numbing at first, 

But waves of sharp searing pain arose, 

I caught a few droplets of blood with my palm, 

The striking red,

A stark contrast to my pale clammy skin. 

I meant to alleviate the pain coursing through my body,

But the undercurrent of pain intensifies, 

The wounds are too deep down the core, 

I’m trapped in the loop, 

Helpless and hopeless. 

Blood, 

Spilt for love and desire,

I seek for vengeance and devotion,

To pacify my sorrows,

To dull out the emptiness and brokenness. 

I could still feel your warmth,

Lingering long after you left, 

A shiver ran down my spine,

As I stood alone in the building chill,

Seeing flashes of blood red. 

You were the sunshine to my pitch dark world,  

You were the ailment to every wound,

You once stopped the bleed, 

Now glimpses of you reopen scars, 

Yet the strong rush of blood in my veins still sends my heart pounding for you. 

Blood, 

It’s all over the place,  

Gasping for breath,  

My knees buckled and knuckles turned white, 

Sinking to the floor wheezing. 

Agony seizes me, 

As if my organs were about to tear apart, 

As if my rib cage was on the verge of breaking, 

As if my limbs were getting severed,

Yet another wave of excruciating pain brought me down to my knees. 

I coughed,  

A fresh crimson stain splattered onto the wall, 

I pressed a hand to my nose gingerly,

A warm trickle of blood came away, 

Dizziness clouded my head and I succumbed to the darkness.  

finito

blood,

invisible ink,

a source of life,

a story of pain,

sweet and sour

blood,

a price paid,

a remnant of torture,

a cycle of never-ending hurt,

a symbolism of broken hearts

blood,

an echo of nightmares,

an aftermath of conflicts and sacrifices,

a silent plea for relievement,

a reminder of gore and grief

blood, blood, blood

are you life or are you death?

the reason for my existence or the bane of it?

my saviour or my enemy?

i don’t have all the answers

and i never do

but as i look at the book of my life,

invisible ink turns 

maroon,

the words turn blurry,

and i see 

nothing else but

blood, blood, blood

blood.

Written by: Di En & Wen Wei