An open wound

She was in pain. As pin pricks shot through her body, she shut her eyes as if to distance herself from reality. And true enough, the pain subsided. Wonders, she wondered and opened her eyes to see him holding her hand. She was a little take aback, to say the truth. She needed all the support in the world, but her battered ego would not accept it, or atleast to him. 


Overcome by numbness, her soul comfortably settled into over dependancy- the only solace it could sink into every moment, without being asked for an explanation, an excuse or a reason. She bled my wound religiously - spilling the bad blood out. The deep intense red a reminder of each painful prick of pain she silently swallowed until every nerve screamed out in a chorus of agony. Silent, sadistic, gliding through silver nights swaying golden skin to the rhythm of pain - until it became music. And then, as if an anticlimax, right where he held her hand the little river of red disappeared into the hollow of his palm. All the while holding her gaze with fierce intensity, he dropped his mouth to it and licked the end of the river. Your blood is now mine, he said.


Let's bleed together then - let's sway to this rhythm together.