Blood Crescendo

Blood Crescendo

Annette Clemens

Poetry

The red slash
of her mouth
applied with lipsticks
and liners
gaped wide
as crimson fingernails
slid up and down
the neck
of her favorite
Rickenbacker.
She screamed a tale
of passionate hate,
with voice cracking,
like the sounds of boards
collapsing
from a full, raging blaze.
Her eyes spat flames
of fury
against enemies
and anemic lovers
whose blood
she drained
with fangs
dripping
scarlet red.

Bottles broke
against concrete.
Limbs thrashed.
The crowd,
a mass
of bloodied bodies,
formed
crazy, chaotic shapes.

Now, only sensations remain
in raw throats
and blood red elbows,
now mellowing
into a soft shade
of magenta.