Bloody Redemption

My blood lies on the floor:
rich droplets pressed into white softness,
a paper towel with designs of intimacy
traced upon it.

My arm is bloody, red, and wounded--
each line upon it, each blade-caress
a performative picture,
bleeding out impurity.

My blade is blackening thickly,
sharp: it is beautiful
glinting under electric lights
full of the promise of redemption.

My skin is fragmented, but I--
I am whole
I will not shatter, I will not break
not so long as my blood flows.