Even Through Blood

I’m sickened by your hovering,
by your disappointment in the no-go open heart.
This world is something fiercely therapeutic,
lying has no more effect thanks to your part.
Fly ignorance’s flag, fly it often, fly it high.
In the meantime, I hate myself today, more than I did yesterday
because I keep living like this:
thorn-stained skin tessellations, graying in decay.
I want to dance and move my blood,
Transfer all the liters into the bank.
I want to save her life, a life worth saving after suicide.
While you’re watching me patiently to step off the plank,
artists furiously sketch a blurry figure,
quickly etching a disappearing sight.
Happy?! HAPPY!?
Take it. All of it.