There is a common denominator

between bleeding and missing you

between the ooey and the gooey

tear of the flesh

and the warning signs that go off

inside my head

whenever I’m thinking about you

between the red drops of blood

that fall from

the open wounds

and the unhealthy need

to speak you into existence

is it that I think

if I speak of you

you can never really leave me

or that I just take pleasure

in painting pictures of my own blood?

pictures that still to this day

resemble you.

Open wounds -{renata ferretti}