The Comfort of Reclusion

Flummoxed they were by this man in their midst,
Who could not grasp the need to keep it in.
Tried to reason with him, but he persists –
His blood on full display under his skin.

He laughed when they said they figured it out,
Warding off pain with the blood buried deep.
He laughed but he cried at their self-imposed drought,
How is life better when you merely sleep?

They pushed his blood down deep in its den
Make sure it’s fully completely suppressed
Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again,
And then he’ll be only troubled, distressed.

Eyes wide in fear, in pain, and in wonder
As he struck at their own hibernating blood –
Drops of red pooling on surface torn asunder
It blooms with beauty, out of terror’s bud.

He begged them to see they lose when they hide –
You see, if you prick us, do we not bleed?
They let their blood flow and together they cried –
Sometimes bloodletting is all we need.

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