Page 17 - Contrast1989

CONTRAST 1989

The silent screams echo
flatly on the cold walls
as sacrificial blood
spills over my blanched knuckles.

I lick my fingers.
Blood smeared face
Wild creation.
Extracting two crimson drops.

I let them fall into
bubbling liquid.
The blackness glows- fascination
with this new addition
that brightens for an instant.
endless night.
In the returning darkness ...
the grim gash of my mouth
lifts its comers.

By Laura Balakir

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