We Bleed and Nothing Else

It bleeds, stings, and itches

Now I'm waiting for the flowers of this reopened wound to come out 

But there are no flowers, 

Just like the last time I waited for an entire garden to come out of my own body,

Instead, I got a forest full of dead leaves

And now I know, 

I don't bleed bouquets and there is no garden inside of me 

I am a haunted house, and my ghost and all of the ghosts of the people I tried to forget scream inside of me 

They rest in my cemetery heart, with only their bones to pick  

There are no flowers in my blood and I don't feel pretty when I ache 

I just bleed and bleed, and nothing else.