The bloody Pen Poet Free verse

I had blood on my face

I had blood on my face. Dirty. Gracious. And… disgusting. Blood dripping on my face. Didn’t know it. It just smelled bad.

When I looked at my face in the mirror, I thought… that the mirror had the blood.

I kept cleaning it. Cleaning it. Rubbing it. With my arms. With my palms. With my fingertips.

At the fatigue, I could get in my fingertips until that blood dripped from my face onto the mirror.

And now I understand that I had a problem. Who caused problems on both me and the mirror.

Now I can clean the blood on my face. But what about the mirror?

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