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Blood

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By Paul BeckettPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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Bloody

The sharper the object, the less I’ll object. A quick slice, scalpel drawn, a sketch in skins story. Waterproof until pierced. Then gushing blush crimson honey. Combed in coagulation if left, Drag index fingers through. Be positive, eight percent. Used to be nine.

An awkward acknowledgment, One twelfth innocence, Eleven twelfths water. Pleurisy panting to get enough oxygen. Platelets and plasma, beautiful RED, Liquid, til left, then knitting’s coalescing Allows wakes to be permanent, Don’t predispose that I’m an imposter. My blood runs freely. I’m a gusher.

Humans scatter, at the sight, a little drop. Will oft insight, a cataclysmic chained-repulsion. But with this gift I’ll let you drink from. The fountain pure, in small gulps taken. Sips intoxicant replacement, statement. Ask me nicely, I can open any vein, Reciprocation token. I give blood. I grin at thinking the pints of me, Pump integration, in other beings. (Sorry Jak 🖤)

Daydream visions, flying carpets. Balance haemoglobin’s surface. Hang on with my new nails surely. Whining as this coasters cornering. In this movie as I gain, the confidence, To just examine, the inner workings My machine, passing organs, No cut, or corners intravenous. Don’t be shy, it’s pure and natural. Splashes dripping, bits of matter.

A little confine, tight capillaries, Fracking through this epidermis. As I said, my preference is, a line,

Of single atom precision. Just a tick. Much like a ripple, alcohol makes it much more Simple. Single minded mentality. Blistered. Less viscous too. Drink water. Blunter things like bitten digits, Can, in anger or in panic, Graze the surface, let it ooze.

Christians, the most predatory. Organisational religion. Caped invaders, Seeking follow. Drink his lifeblood, Sip and bow. Brow touched, flesh eaten. Our metaphors, from him, ‘so sacred?’ Nope, he did not open paths on seabed’s. This man, exalted, Gloating deity. They Sunday sup, his Cup flows weekly (weakly). Odder context, culture reflects.

Mass, the alter, take communion. I drink his blood, at every opportunity. They offer me a sip of wine, It’s consecrated, bled his sign. Others humbly, meekly take, The tiniest drip, just enough to wet the lip. I pour it down. Open gullet, I empty it. Tempt his DNA to move me, never has. The priests can sue me.

I love the look, in pompous gowns. The gibberish, the ancient psalms, The ‘preacher’ gasps, didactic bile. I drank the whole lot, licked the bowl. He doth give. I have taken. Running down my chin and neckline. The earplugs in, from start to finish. Streaming punk and death metal.

I yearn for that pure moments bliss. The goblets rim-shot, open kiss. Rosy round my Cupid’s bow. I feel the buzzing inner glow. No one said “Don’t be greedy” I wanted Jesus’ liquid remedy. So early Sunday, at different churches. I consume ‘him’ in vaster quantities. One day, I’ll drink him and I’ll empty him. Sipping sinner, chewing blasphemous.

Let’s not lift him, he’s not special. We are equal. In that revelry. I lick my wounds, for fuel to hex with. 11am is syncopation. End this nonsense. Divinity, false prophets, man-made. It on mass the churches, each harvest, Your worshippers, courtesy, the produce. Gallons of Christ, consume until giddy. Darkness is coming. Makes me feel heady. Already.

Where is my cathodic protection? I’ve Swam against protective currents, Left without answering, in-glow. Can’t predict catastrophic cracking. Structural integrity, holds. Yet tense. In anticipation I seem to enjoy suspense. Adrenaline drenched pools I wade(d). Don’t like the fear, but miss the exciting. All things come to ‘bite-me’, despite, Trying, I’m in contravention of loops. Reliant, defiant implausibly silent. As times-lines are often said backwards.

References:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_of_Christ

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_ritual

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_libel

https://www.blood.co.uk/why-give-blood/blood-types/

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stress_corrosion_cracking

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cathode

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cathodic_protection

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robot

slam poetry
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About the Creator

Paul Beckett

I’m a writer, horologist & joy filled fantasist. Reality to me is plastic. I’m fascinated with time, quantum physics, analogue and fashion.

My writings at least 69% autobiographical, often 99%

Fav:Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams- S.Plath

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