Blood Wall

There was the empty space. There was the wall. There was the wide blue of the sea. There was a tiny speck. There was a fly squashed carelessly on the wall, sticking with bent legs crushed in stunning reprise. There was an emerald green island dotting the ocean.

Eyes to notice. Eyes to forget. Apprehend the meaning and then move on. To a bigger black spot. Till the stain grows out of your soul like white boiling milk left to run over. And then one day it's your turn to be swatted. Your blood, whether red or blue or dark, it does not matter: it forms another stain on another wall.

Forget? Why? What? Beauty? Do you have it that much, that you want to forget it? Why are you so arrogant? Don't you think it does matter.

Yes, it does.