Needles

Little teeth flash greedily.

They twinkle and twist, diving in.

Blood, endless blood, drips.
It drops, falls, cascades, flows.
Swirling into chaos and confusion.
It fills shiny vials,
Leaving nothing behind.

I am pale.
I am weak.
I am bloodless.

My eyes are wet. My heart is angry:
I want to hear screams, feel pain that is not my own.
Now the needles are gone and my hands are bloody.
And I am left waiting.

I have hope.
But mostly I have fear.
I don't want more emptiness.
Tension rises, my chest falls, my hands shake;
I hope this time the needle breaks.


Tschüss,
Marta Frieda Hart