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Veins

Dizzy-foggy,
Disconnected,
The feelings sweep
Through a glaze of confusion.
Where am I?
Who am I?
What's happening?
Staring blankly outwards
And inwards at the same time,
My wrists catch my gaze:
A roadmap of blue veins
And tiny purple capillaries,
Fragile, thin, just one cell thick,
Blood cells marching single file,
Depleted,
Into the veins,
Which flow and flow to renewal,
Then back into the system
Endlessly.
A cycle engaged forever...
Unless
Those veins are split,
The blood spilt,
Gaining oxygen directly,
Growing redder instantly,
Which should not happen;
Meaning something is wrong...
Yes, wrong.
The things that drive a person
To split those veins and
Spill that blood...
Something IS wrong.
Yet it feels so right...
Puddles.
Puddles
Of blazing red
Life,
Drying into blackness.
Rusty stains
On the floor
Washed away
By a custodian
Who shakes his head
And in passing wonders
Why?
But goes on about his business,
And dismisses it
From his mind.
There is no answer.
There never is.
A roadmap...
Blue roadways,
Leading nowhere.