There is blood on the wall
But whose it is, no one knows
Not a splatter or a drip
Rather a desperate smear
As if the one bleeding were trying to run away
Fleeing to escape the cutter of flesh
You can see this in the finer tip trails along the wall
You can taste the fear in the air
Like phantoms moving in smoke
Like faded film from forgotten movies
They play back the violence of this scene
They show that art truly is sacrifice and loss
Let us now begin this, shall we?
Just the quickest of cuts my love
and with but a few brush strokes
There is blood on the wall
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