There is something
in my blood.

It’s itchy.

My sister
has it too,

my whole
family does.

I can tell.
I smell it.
I see it.

It has to be
let out.


Like the dog,
down the street.

I let it out of him.

I slit
his throat,

and he looked so happy,
as blood flowed free.

You can’t see it,
as it dries
like a mask.

My mask,
it hides me.

It hides
the blood
in my eyes.

It hides me.
It saves me.

But she
can’t hide,

my sister.

I have to kill her.
I have to free her

of the blood.

Only I can
carry the blood,
only I can be alive.

When I kill
the blood cools;

it’s free

and I feel happy

like when
I see
the rabbits

in the forest

and I make
their breath stop,

but the blood flows
and dries right.

Right sister?


Christoph Paul is an author of 6 books of humor, horror, bizarro, non-fiction, and poetry.

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