an ode to blood and guts

and the blood
always blood
it comes
and it goes
but it’s always back

and the pain
how one deludes oneself
into rationalizing it
until it returns
and it twists between
organs
and connective tissue

and the prisons
of different sorts
small rooms
boxes, suffocating
and the mind
and the belly
and the fact
that you can’t
sever the connection

no epidural to be given
as in childbirth
no window of hours
or of days
before it will be gone
women will scoff
yet i would trade them
with absolutely certainty
i will take your pain
and the knowledge of
a squalling prize
the knowledge that
it will be done soon
i can say no such thing
while demons pluck
at my abdomen
eking out some kind of
hellish melody

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