Red Tide

Hand held to my cut eyebrow, stemming the red tide,
The cracked pane stares back at me, mocking the damage it has caused,
Outside, the sun shines, but dims with every spell of falling water,
Despite the lack of a grey sky above, supposedly needed to bring the rain;
Gazing through the broken glass, and through the broken swirls of cloud,
Through the forests of the West, where something special should have blossomed,
Through to fertile grass, by the smooth surface of the lake, in that place that never dies,
Even if the people living in or around do face life's one assurance;
Thinking about the brevity of our moments and why they were so,
Dreaming of a time we could have been alone, lying amidst freshly cut blades,
Under a shower of warm drops that would have felt like kisses,
Breathing in air free of the smoke that veils the Black Pool;
In reality, a bandage soaked in blood stings my wound,
Doubling the frustration now reaching its crescendo of helpless hopes,
While the jagged point sticks through some dead skin, held aloft like a trophy,
Celebrating my stupidity in the wet sun light, now gathering gusts to sway the trees,
Blowing leaves away that are no longer strong enough to stay at home;
And I can hear the howling of the wind in opposition to the thoughts rushing through my head,
Wailing louder as the blood rushes from my torn brow, dripping onto my cheek,
Pumping, the gaping hole has a pulse, growing wider with every second,
Everything begins to spin as each red droplet leaves circulation to wander free,
Increasing in speed, as word of emancipation from this body spreads like the Plague,
Until it flows like a river and crashes like a waterfall, drowning in a red wave,
And I wither away, like all the wants I held foolishly onto for so long.

(now I start getting into things that aren't happening and start using objects/events as metaphors).