Blood grows on you,

figuratively,

it’s literal growth being so obviously internal.

It’s more the taste of it,

something external

but from the mouth the tongue the sensation the mind the craving

one tightly knit dance of destruction

One could leave it to the sharks

not as methodical as (wo)man

but honest

at least honest

a shark feeds and you know it feeds humans lie about it.

We swim with gills soaked in blood pretending it just happened to be in the water