Blood

By Aria D’Amico

Blood drips from my hands, like paint falling from the canvas.

The pain too much, the world too heavy.

I reached through the dark, for anything, like a rose looking for sunshine in the night.

The scar is a reminder of both strength and weakness, a sign of a past paved with passion.

Some days, I hear the ghost of who I was whisper to me, and it echoes through my body like electricity.

But, survival is the scar those spectres can never touch.