The wound on my leg reminds me of a vagina

In justification of the subject designated to this particularly uneventful message:

How the bleeding wound and the velvet skin ripped open into a perfect V, reminded me of an oyster shell. As the white pulp seeped through the mouth, tiny drops of diamond reminded me of a lone woman masturbating in her dead husband’s bed. I used a cotton ball to dab the blood which stained my white shorts and left a mistresses’ lipstick marks through the transparent skin of cloth. A seductive smile. A crimson tainted smile. The blood collected into an eyeball and I saw the reflection of a woman in labor. The pink walls of her innards expanding to let the passage of life flow within her, from her, through her. The pain quivered in my bones, much like the casual touch of the woman you love, the side glance of a friend you once kissed in the school yard, the laugh of a father who belittles your every achievement, the nonchalance of the mother who betrayed your innocence, and much like the lies you told as a child which eventually ate away your soul.

It’s funny how everything we are and everything we will be is only a mirage of everything we hoped to be.

Hence the resemblance. Do you see it?

Sometimes

In the contours of my heart
I weep ink droplets of tears
And smear these tiny booklets of sorrow
I write in hopes for you to hear
The wit, the satire, the humor, the vanity
These words which compromise my very grains of sanity
Sometimes I wonder; if love has finally taken its toll on reality.

In the crisp winter nights
My hollow cries shatter glass domains
For I tend to bestow cruelty galore
To those you lure
Into the compound festivity of your heart’s desire
Never have I had the chance to hear
These wordless dreams you sing with eyes glistening in fear
Sometimes I wonder; if love has finally taken its toll on my lover’s tears.

In the dewy afternoons of autumn
I dream of endless possibilities
To inflict countless brutalities
On this forsaken mass of flesh
Crimson, violet, ringlets of appearing blush
How I pretend to suffer in my aching insomnia
All the pain and bruises I bear are for my nymphomania
Cure me somehow,
For I live as I dream…alone…
Sometimes I wonder; if love has finally taken its toll on these lone bones.

In the shadows of my fleeting grace
I wish to lament my fawning self through these blood-stained traces
Just to take a peep into the bedroom
Where you undress so patiently, so carelessly,
Take you by surprise, for these kaleidoscopes of time
Have turned my skin into bits and pieces of lime
If the Virgin Mary be so kind,
I shall slip my tongue into your mouth, kiss you on the sly
And whisper secrets into the bowels of your spirit
Only to hang myself inside out
In the wooden crate, seven feet below this heaving earth
Alas! For this life, shall matter least to me, from that day forth

Sometimes…

Because I know, that love has finally taken its toll on me and so much more.