Bleed me monthly razor blade boy.
A battle ground of death
bleeding scars resurected
as oxygen is starved
to the contracting walls.
The unforgotten rip in
reality, a monthly machete
led torturous reminder.
Razor blades cut long and deep,
As blood spills begins to seep.
An implosion upon implosion
Of this wondrous female motion.
And people wonder what the fuck
is the commotion!!
Let me sit here upon the floor as
death takes me and I feel no more.
Or at least until the pain killers
Kick in and the constant drumming
Of razor blade boy slows to a rhymythic
Numbness as I forge war upon biology.
*This poem is about menstruation.
Karen Hayward. ©2016.