Posterior Epistaxis Maximus

Malena breath

A stomach full of blood

Deep dark

Comes the smell of chrysanthemum

Metallic iron flaking edge

Rusting old chains

Oh! precious flow of life

How you were wasting

Tasting of salt tears

Fears that tomorrow will be poorly dressed

Loneliness helps concentrate the mind

Dulls the aching tickle

Hot crimson trickle drip dropping

Stopping to splash its signature

Hideous confusion swallowed down

Beginning to drown

In my own life’s blood