i think what it would be like to lie there and bleed and bleed and bleed.

and because the futon is black and my blankets are dark upon first glance you wouldnt be able to tell the blood was there.

and you, they, i? would call to me and tell me to get up.

and i wouldnt move.

and you, they, i? would kneel down and shake my shoulder and realize that we are kneeling in something damp.

and we would stand up quickly and see the evidence of a pain released smeared upon our knees...

and sometime later someone would come and move the futon, and the oriental rug beneath it and then the apartment carpeting beneath that.

and they would scrub and scrub and scrub and replace, replace, replace but forensically, for as long as this place exists there would be a sign that said

I DIED HERE.

RIP




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