Molly
Dry blood on my skin, under my nails, on my clothes. I brush crusted hair out of my eyes. The iron flakes follow.
It's been years since I painted myself red. Injured horses' thin legs spurting blood. Maimed dogs, their ears and paws ripped into bloody ribbons. I didn’t faint then, helping my veterinary parents and I won’t now.
I press the curved kni…
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