*TW: Mentions of violence*
How does one bleed without wanting to break free? How does one not untangle and dismantle and dissolve in a fury because of the same? Four little walls and four days of bleeding. Four days of bleeding and four hours of crying. Menstruation, Medication, Meditation. A red fury trapped amidst the bright red walls.
With mother screaming and father fighting, how does one find emotional nirvana in a home-like this? Chasms of pain springing in my stomach. Little merciless accompaniments of vermilion blood. Bottles of hot water, boiling bags of burning water.
Palatable seizures and kicks of pain Menstruation, irritation and agitation.
Vivid red visuals turning to black, how does one deal with that? Do periods with dysfunctional families come with a guide? Do you have any rules to abide by? My mother would rather see me screech in pain than stop the fight.
I bleed from in-between my legs. My mom bleeds from her beaten eyes. Does our pain still not suffice. Stoic, static little frozen cubes of ice. Is my mom’s blood purer than mine? Do you think that you can deny? That no bleeding can ever suffice?
Vermilion red scars, some on our clothes, some on our skin. Quiet, don’t scream; let your cramps slowly kill you while your parents fight. Muffled screams of pain and terror. My body wants pleasure. My mind screams terror. And as the night falls by and I bleed on my sheets, I softly cry because of this awful deed. What sin did I do to be trapped in this hell?
Four walls and a little jail cell. Menstruation knows no pleasure all it knows is pain. The pain of my being and the pain of being in pain is enough of a drain. Lockdown and pots of vermilion pain. My red blood hurts me too much without a single gain and I know that it too stains.