A Smear of Blood

Whining, you wriggle in my nose
You loop in my ear canal
Striking always in the moments before sleep

I can't take it

I want to snatch you up
Smash your face
Just like that
Then crumple you with my fingers
into a mixture of pus and blood leaving a tiny little stain of red
I rub that smear of insect paste into my cheeks Like rouge
I feel the cool of new death on my skin

It is not unpleasant

It calms
It feels like sacrament
Like the fist time I touched a dead body, I have violated the living
The breathing and the dead are separated by a film so thin but impenetrable
I run my fingertips along its surface
before long, I can longer tell
where my warm body begins from where the dead insect ends
My blood coagulates
The tracery of my veins harden into marble