I am the ball of blood rolling down your left leg after a bullet bites it.
I am a page torn from a favorite book to wipe the blood.
I am your broken bones.
I am the thought that attacks your mind in the mental asylum because
you couldn't kill yourself correctly.
I am the gray sky in between two rainbows.
I am laughing like a pair of scissors.
I am the beige band-aid peeling your paper skin.
I am the human head on your front porch that you carved into a pumpkin.
I am your throbbing thumb after you shake hands with a knife.
I am an amusement ride and my name is the electric chair.
I am the blood trailing beneath the door like the spray paint of Christ.
I am nothing.