Rehinged

Back in August, I referenced my dark gothic poem "Rehinged". Almost a year after that poetry writing class that I took, and it's still my favorite, even though it was also one of the first ones.

I've therefore decided, since I like this so much and I've already told you about it, to post it. Dark poetry isn't everyone's thing, though, so if you're easily disturbed you might want to bypass this poem.

Just a warning. My fiction seems to specialize in things disturbing.

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Rehinged

Her blood trails slowly down the wall
As the hands reach, grab after me.
Are they hands? What is that cold--
Wait, that's the metal of Mum's old
Knife. That's what they grab and want,
As if I really am that errant.
Kill myself? What good would that do?
Take it--I took it from Mum, too.
She thought it would be better that way,
To hide from the dark of another day.
You might question my sanity,
But her blood still cools in the hall.