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Poetry: Blood

by Brandon Elliott

Created on: March 08, 2009

Drip. Drip.

The narrow river flows with your blood.

Sweeping, tugging.

rushing through your heart.

Feeding you, flourishing

before making an exit

through the fiery slit

in your neck.

Blood isn't permanent.

But the stains are.

and not even Clorox

can erase the imprint

of my blood painted hand

on your egotistical image.

Learn more about this author, Brandon Elliott.
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