that boy bleeds
like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.
he bleeds like yesterday was just a dream
and tomorrow has been cancelled.

that boy bleeds so red
roses wilt in shame and all fires turn cold.
and the sun, the moon, the stars;
the roses, the fires, the yesterdays and tomorrows—
they’re all watching him, too.

‘ why? ’ they plead, confused; sorrowful.
‘ for what reason do you choose to bleed? ’
—and the bloody boy smiles.