Blood, Death and the Shell

Just watch, I bid you.  Nothing will happen as long as you stay here.  Its only blood, something we replace as easily as the breath in our lungs.  And just as loosing ones breath, dont loose too much or lest you die.  But see, its red, it shows life before it even escapes the cut that loosed it.  Watch it, as it dances on the edge of its encapsulation just a small ruby of the mortal coil.  Take it, and see its power, it holds all that we can be, even more than we realize.  The mortal coil is propelled by this substance, we can feed from it, figuratively as well as bringing that bead of crimson to our lips and take it as nourishment.  Not too much, as it will make you sick if not used to its power.  Take it before it grows as cold as the heart that spilt it.  Dont worry about whom you take it from, they are of no consiquence, just the shell of what has been of the past.  Wipe away those memories, they will be lost in what you take, dont worry that shell wishes only to forget the past, be another as things have forced it to be. 

Look again, it darkens as it hits the surface, a pool of one drop then another spreading steadily outward trying to find its container again.  Soon, it will loose the form it has now, seperating into two.  Duality even shows in its progression before it will be maroon, almost black unless looked at in the light, then its nature will be revealed.  To quote the Lady MacBeth, "Out out damned spot".  It will never go away, it will seep into its surface and await some freedom from the air and whatever rains that may wash this place, Mother Natures vain effort to replenish this place of death.

Forget the shell again, let it bleed.  Surrounding you is death itself, where bodies rot, becoming one with the worms that would infest us all given the chance.  But we move, we run from them in each gesture.  We fear the grim reaper yet celebrate his power in this place.  Set your hand upon a stone, a memorial to a light extinguished.  Here we all will rest in time.  Father Time is a sadistic bastard, know that for a fact.  Red is not the color here, it is gray and black, that where no light can shine, it is evaporated before it reaches down to touch the shells that lay beneath the ground.  Is this place hallowed or cursed?  Even the trees weep, loosing their leaves in progression of the seasons.  Each season they weep, in Fall is when they shriek showing their own blood in red, gold and brown.  Winter they still cry the vagrant wind picking up what stays upon their cheeks.  Come Spring when they try to recover they push their own tears away with new growth.  Summer they still try to find equilibrium loosing only when the thunderstoms come, they share their tears with the heavens then.  And then the cycle repeats as it has for eons.

The shell?  It is nothing but stolen breath from a god that has no trust in the creation of this blue and white marble hurtling inside the radiation filled fluid of space and time.  Without question the shell wants to belive it is divine, that it is unique and will use their considerable intelligence to fall into a false reality that in some ways they will live on after that breath that was stolen is taken back, or lost to the curtians of the veil we have errected between divinity and mortality. 

Find it strange to have such contempt for fellow man?  What reason is there to hold man to a pedestal.  Beyond this daisy factory they stay at war.  They keep no respect for their shells polluting it with drugs, drink or the sharing of their body with another with no compunction to walk away and never speak again to the other.  No trust, no convention of taking care of those that would be less better off than them.  Many would rather be a hypocrite than a martyr. 

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Just something that flowed off the tongue..