Running Red

Crimson flows thickly
over cobbled stone,
running like water
so sickly smooth,
the irony smell is
filling the air,
making it hard to breath,
as it pools around my feet,
i can feel the warmth fade,
finally noticing that from my
wrist it trickles,
i collapse, as my vision
fades to black.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace