Wounded

The gash you carelessly sliced 

lay open,

fresh and clean

glistening in the cold morning,

steam rising from my warm flesh.

Bright, viscous blood

pooling

No pain at first,

it was so sudden,

betrayal so sharp.

Later the ache started

Blood coagulated, dried

hard and thick over the wound

as it should.  But

you returned

You came again and again

and white ooze seeped out

as you kept at the flap

of skin

now hot, red 

infected

Because you won’t leave,

my Promethean suffering goes on

(image by mohzart)