Blood of Me

I looked at a drop of my blood under a microscope It was a mistake. I should have not looked; I should never have looked so close at myself. I was not red but gray, and I was but globs of gray and I- the bland globs had corners, imperfections and the imperfections had imperfections and I was not whole, these globs, of me, were held apart from each other I could see nothing between them-- I was as tiny moons – lost in a vast cosmos-- cold and empty.