A Crimson Flood

A crimson flood washes over
The unexpecting,
The ones who think their world is numb
And their life isn’t worth living.
The flood breaks from the skin, overflowing
To pool into a slack hand
In a lake of crimson tears,
Shed because the clear ones weren’t enough.
Shed because it numbs the helplessness
Or brings back a brief sense of feeling.
But what other people don’t understand
Is that the flood is just a way to
Let us know we’re alive
To realize that what is flowing out,
Is also keeping us awake, animated, alive.
The crimson flood
Is actually an captivating site,
Starting as a growing spot,
until the dam breaks and it flows
Like the Nile ran red,
So also did the blood on our hands.