My blood thickens, it pops, reds,
against all the toxins we crave and endure.
A toxin of red, with its blooms,
in veil it is the darkest part of my being.
Photo by Ed Leszczynskl on Unsplash
A form of gluttonous red,
it flows from the parents I had,
they were a merry source to me,
but its true origin remains a mystery.
It carries the old and the acquired,
ours maybe, red that sustains
every ligament of us.
A whole new thing, transparent,
white on its surface, blue in its purity.
To what does it owe its origin?
Where does its heart lie,
in the cold waters of Antarctica,
or in a thumping, in a mere vibration?
A part we have to play,
and a part we are.
