You can’t be serious. I haven’t got
another vein to open. This place smells
of blood and semen now, but something tells
me you expected that. Well, that’s your lot.
You wanted blood. You got it. But that’s all.
I never promised not to leave a mess.
I never promised to exsanguinate
to schedule, by such and such a date;
I only promised you complete success:
you’re free of me. I’ll never write or call.
I’m somewhere warm and wet and crimson. How
’bout you? I’m somewhere where the steam licks heat
into and from my skin. I’m floating now.
I’m anywhere but here. Let’s never meet.