Still Here

An open wound, 
flecks of dirt and
gravel
ground into the raw,
pink,
flesh. 
My blood, as dark and crimson 
as a 
cherry, trickling
down my legs,
the brightness contrasting
against my
pale skin.
the stinging 
pain of 
my cut
is dulled by 
the pulsing 
rush
of my blood
Thrum
Thrum
Thrumming
beneath my skin and
in my veins,
showing that-
proving that-
I’m still alive
and right here.
still here.