crimson blood— i will have it coming out of my ears and through any cracks and creases i have lining my thighs and hands and feet and stomach and kneecaps.
bony hips and porcelain brains all full of iron and water. it's a miracle i'm a walking mess i should be a dead mess.
ill bleed helium onto solar eclipses and vomit carbon onto surplussed moons.
my headaches will form burning villages and pillaging spears and dry, flaming throats. it will be ravaged by swords over and over again until i am bleeding and vomiting once again.
my whole point is that i'm a fucking disaster.
(honestly , this wasn't even poetic.
im just on my period.)