Bleeds Black.

The streets are silvery black from the rain
mirroring the darkened space in my brain
yellow streetlights cast a sad, sickly haze
down on reflective, fire-fly puddles ablaze

The drizzly days have been rescuing me
washing away dead layers, torrentially
but then, are the drops of a different breed
fallen from eyes onto wounds that still bleed

No comfort in the faces that I look upon most
no magic left to ponder, no victories to boast
things I once perceived other than “formerly”
along the lines of the former endless possibility

Everything eddies round down the storm drain
into the gutter too deep to be pulled out again
drowned out by the mournfully grey pitter-patter
metallic ting of the O-ring’s half-mass tatter

My heart bleeds the darkest of black from the vein
a shower of droplets to bathe me in exquisite pain
the wind seems to whisper at me of forgotten treachery
the beloved stars feel like they twinkle in my mockery

The drizzly days have seen things slipping away
wound around and bound to drown there, someday
sleepless nights that leave me all directions in my head
I’m gut-shot, and bleeding out the night hours in my bed

One thought on “Bleeds Black.

  1. doubtpuppet says:

    I always feel at home in the rain. That probably means I’m a sad bastard but there it is. Lovely poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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