bloodless face swims
in my blurry vision
as I try to take in
the scene of your demise.
your form so still
looking more dejected
than ever amid liquid
rubies draining from
the slits on your wrists
I used to wrap my fingers
around to measure the
width out of boredom.
and now I am doing
the same except this time
I'm trying to seal
the openings with
the palms of my hands.
I pray, and pray long
after the help arrived,
feeling weak and drained
as if my own life was
in peril, not yours.
I can see the wetness
on my hands drying up.
it looks as though
I'm holding an anemone
blossom in each hand.
suddenly I feel akin
to Venus; I understand
perfectly how she felt
when she lost Adonis.
the air ropes around me
so tight, I have to
struggle to breathe.
and in between, I ask
myself over and over,
why?
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