Another Night of Nosebleed

I see the stain on the pillow from
another night of nosebleed.
A bruise on my shin from atrophied balance
meeting the bedpost says good morning.

Straw like hair creeps back.
Evidenced by strands littering my bedsheets,
shining silver where once they were brown.

I blame the cold dry air of winter
knowing that would impede fluidity,
improve the viscosity of my blood when
I cut myself shaving.

I quit shaving instead.
One more time.


About The Emotional Orphan

I am a museum of past affection. A wax museum in the sun.
This entry was posted in Poetry, UDPS and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Another Night of Nosebleed

  1. this is wonderful! an evidence of a morning after a cold winter night…

    and i like the way you end it, in a defiance of the winter, as if it didnt really matter so long the willpower is all there

    “I quit shaving instead.
    One more time.”


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