My blood
Like anyone else's
contained
Much like ink In a cheap plastic pen
Destined to run dry
before it is used up
Easily donated
to save the life of another
The messages scrawled
across wood floor
They Look different in the light
Smell different once dried
Like the ghosts of sun
Effortlessly falling through any cracks
Playing on bark
Highlighting the grays
of the muted green lichen
Edges lacy
New life atop of life
Food for yet more life
The color cries out to a sea it's not tasted
Unaware of an appetite for salinity that could kill its host
Still, it remains
Eitbva hunger for something
Its never known