fresh blood

it's not a deep wound.
but
there's blood.
crimson ribbons of red
that swirl and
flow
so easily from my
lacerated arm.
how fragile we are.
there is so much within us
that we
can't see,
that no one can see.
the mystery of our minds,
our souls
are barely visible
through our eyes, but
for the most part
others are blind
to who we really are
deep inside.
this blood though is out
there.
it's on the floor,
there's a trail of me
behind me, now clotted
dark
on the white cloth,
seeping through the bandage
as it's
wrapped tightly around
my arm. they stop
the flow at last, so for now
at least,
I will survive.