Bleeding Out

by Melissa Myers

i. there’s blood everywhere. it’s all different shades of red. crimson, scarlet, blazing ruby. darkened in some places. it’s slipping into the water and adorning it pink.

ii. pink. thulian. rose. carmine. puce. (puce is a yucky word, it sounds like throwup.) nadeshiko. coral. persian. carnation. salmon. pink in the water and its slipping out over the whitewashed walls onto the floor and it’s going to drip and go through the ceiling like that one time a couple years ago. i hope dad doesn’t get mad.


iii. it doesn’t hurt anymore.

iv. it’s sunshine outside and everyone is smiling. i’m a kid again and the world is all crayons and swingsets and people and i can see butterflies.

v. promise me you’ll take care of yourself.

vi. whoops.

vii. your smile is what’s in my head. you had pretty teeth. they were white because you didn’t eat the junk food that made me fat – you wished you could though. diabetics never have any fun.

viii. i can practically feel my body deflating like a balloon. i’m flat, finally flat! colorless. everyone said the world needed more color and now the color is leaking out of my body like rainbow juice from that mgmt video.


ix. i told you you were the only one i’d ever love.


x. i can hear music. it’s soft and sad and slow and i feel sluggish. i try to raise my hand. no such luck. i guess you need blood for that.


xi. what’s the word? hemorrhaging? hypovolemia. and cuts are lacerations. i can remember that. i was always afraid of asphyxiation. and being burned alive.

xii. there was a perfect day. it was raining. everyone passed around raincoats and rainboots and covered up their miniskirts and dresses with big heavy ponchos. music, music everywhere. a baby-voiced boy crooned out love songs to a girl named lucy. i was jealous of lucy.

xiii. short shorts, tank tops and bracelets that sometimes slipped. anyone could see the scars and yet nobody did.


xiv. i hear footsteps and screaming. the screaming is muted like a little switch turned off. i’m glad, my mother always did have an obnoxious scream. i wonder if she’s scared. i’m not.


xv. the music is getting louder and softer at the same time.


xvi. stay with me. is that you or her?

kitty, kitty.

so you haven’t forgotten me. a pity.


xvii. heavier footsteps, deeper voices. my father? emts too. emt. supposedly, they’re good at what they do. i doubt it, my mother was one.


xviii. i’m giggling ‘cause i feel like ramona from scott pilgrim, because i broke your heart. except my hair’s not blue. it’s pink. everything is pink.

xix. every pilgrim reaches the end of his journey.

xx. they’re lifting me up but i can’t feel it anymore. i must be lucid dreaming.


xxi. someone is singing.

xxii. everything is so god damn clear. why didn’t i see before?


xxiii. my eyes are closing, i can’t keep them open anymore. colors dance behind my eyelids.  all my favorite shades of blue -   dark blue, light blue, baby blue, teal.

and your eyes.

god, it’s hard to forget your eyes.

xxiv. dying should not be this fucking complicated.

xxv. i can’t think anymore. can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything. someone is begging me to stay with them. maybe it’s my mother. i never knew she cared.

xxvi. there are hot raindrops dripping on my face, on my chest, on my wrists. haha, my wrists. i’m glad i kept my bra on. men take advantage of little girls, or did you forget? i never forgot. 

god knows, i never forgot.

xxvii. the singing is getting softer.

xxviii. i’m done.

Ryan Francesconi