An Excuse For a Suicide

The blood that remembers That of brother-to-brother or sister-to-sister The blood that holds a family together The blood that brought us here from a far and distant land The blood we share in toil and strife and in war and death Who made this blood and why do we have so little of it? Shouldn’t we be able to farm it and grow it like tomatoes on the vine? For it is our blood. We own it. Who can take it from us? War, most certainly, but that blood is given for righteousness and should surely be returned post haste. Can we cut ourselves like the Indians and become blood brothers? Does that strengthen our numbers? Or is it just some silly myth or rite of life. I would like to think that blood would give strength but as it pours from my body I only feel weakness. These two slits in my wrists are conduits to another world right? They will make strong and give a warrior the strength to shoot the arrow straight and ride the pony hard. My giving is their strength. It is a good day to die. I bleed myself slowly for I know that they will need the energy in increments. My soul is that of a warrior and it can only strengthen their cause. From Wounded Knee to DaNang the dead have given their souls so we could be free. Why would I stop that tradition now?