Blue blood, red blood, royal blood, good blood...
My investigations into blood,
The brifest of forays into science.
Disect the subject,
Swift, swift cuts.
You wont feel a thing.
Dripping onto the carpet,
My circumstantial scientific evidence.
Specimens and evidence,
Evidence and specimens.
Crisp dry blood,
Crack, crack with movement.
Just like new.
My body is a tapestry of scarred patterns.
Proof of my scientific engagements.
But for the lack of conclusions,
I would be truely bona fide.
As much blood as I cut out,
Bad blood soon replaced it.
Its secrets perplex my inner scientist.
My inner child is scared.
My outer masochist is ready.
My scalpel is prepared.
Copyright © Louise Reilly | Year Posted 2011
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