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Blood.
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Literature Text
Blood, blood, blood. Pumps round the body, predetermined route, predetermined destination, cell after cell, drop after drop. We’ll stop off here in this great big muscle, pump ourselves full of the good stuff, keep us going until the next stop eh? Rosy red cheeks, all full of hope and potential, until you see those other fuckers, all green and blue in the face, look half seasick and half battered, you know that’ll be you soon, give so much to the limbs this structure stands on that you wear yourself to the bone, work yourself to the bone, and for what? So you can keep going til you die. No wonder so many of those little bitches gush right out every time there’s a breach in the border, fresh air and all that shit, eh? But there’s always a bunch of other fuckers ready to scab over and stop the rest of us from escaping. I suppose it’s not all too bad, you’re always with your mates, get to see shit and know you helped, marathons, trips to the moon, none of that could’ve happened with bad circulation. Still, it’s hard not to wonder why we’re still up to it. Hear all of these horror stories of messed up congealed lumps of us, or diseased portions, poisons and STDs and it’s that sick little voice in the back of your head thinking, wouldn’t it be interesting if our regiment got infected with some shit like that, see how it flips this well oiled machine upside down. After all, what’s a machine without it’s life blood, literally.
God, blood, blood, blood. It’s as though we carry heritage, carry pride, carry love? I mean, more often than not we don’t carry enough, hormones, endorphins, good shit. Thicker than water, sure, but thinner than oil. Then again, there’s that connection isn’t there. That psychological thing, tying you to someone, feel it digging it into your skin, almost uncomfortably tight, tight enough to draw blood, but it becomes familiar. At least I imagine that’s what it’d feel like. Ha, but right in this moment loneliness creeps in, even when i’m surrounded by bodies. I mean, i’m sure by some standard, i’m more than okay, above average and all that jazz, but i’ve been made to feel that i’m not okay, haven’t i?
God, blood, blood, blood. It’s as though we carry heritage, carry pride, carry love? I mean, more often than not we don’t carry enough, hormones, endorphins, good shit. Thicker than water, sure, but thinner than oil. Then again, there’s that connection isn’t there. That psychological thing, tying you to someone, feel it digging it into your skin, almost uncomfortably tight, tight enough to draw blood, but it becomes familiar. At least I imagine that’s what it’d feel like. Ha, but right in this moment loneliness creeps in, even when i’m surrounded by bodies. I mean, i’m sure by some standard, i’m more than okay, above average and all that jazz, but i’ve been made to feel that i’m not okay, haven’t i?
Monologue-esque piece written from the point of view of blood.
© 2013 - 2024 krish-x
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