schneiden
is my suffering quantifiable by the amount of blood I lose?
red, colour of passion and aggression, paints the course of life
love be a tender cleanse of colour from my flushed face
but when it all comes to me, it’s like my breath exposed to a vacuum
and when it felt steady, the poles of the Earth suddenly shifted
if you’re hanging by a thread, you have two choices:
hold on to what’s left or cut the only thing keeping you suspended
to live is to follow the invisible red string of fate
it’s supposed to be black and white for me to fill in
yet as my two eyes focus to converge from red and blue, it’s violet
‘schneiden’, I scream, meaning ‘cut’ in German
but who am I fooling with my crude translation?
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maybe I just want to feel something – to feel the certainty of reality
cheer and optimism are all everyone sees, but it’s hard to breathe
my head’s in the clouds, but all I want is my body in the dirt
for the most sacred of Gods, I’ll write the Bible
everyone else is a false prophet before my audacity to worship
I will be a snake shedding my own skin in offering
everyone bleeds eventually, especially when bit
so would it be self-immolation or am I only sating my hunger?
sometimes I just can’t anymore; it’s too much
He speaks to me in dreams, when I’m awake, or even in between
‘prove your devotion to me by tainting the river red’
but let me first calculate the number of bodies it’ll take
and to prove a point, I’ll start with my own
