BLOOD UNDER THE SNOW

By Brian Cameron

I wrote Do no harm and split the nib.

Ink climbed my wrist—

slow, deliberate— as if it had been waiting.

The page swallowed what it could.

The rest kept moving.

I pressed my hand there, trying to quiet the noise.

It didn’t stop.

I meant to save someone.

Instead, I watched their story dry on my skin.

When I washed, it bloomed again— dark, ferrous, faithful.

I said I understood hunger.

I lied.

It burned the same going down, and I kept drinking.

Silence came in clean gloves.

It took my name first, then the light from the room.

I tried to carry water.

It froze before I reached the door.

I broke the ice with my teeth.

It tasted like metal.

There is snow outside.

I walk into it— barefoot, bleeding ink.

Each step darkens, then fades, then darkens again.

I can’t tell anymore what’s washing off me, and what’s trying to get in.

#DarkPoetsClub