I see red

they touched him

and I swear

a god died in me.

I watch him wake up

screaming

like a lamb mid-slaughter,

like innocence torn open

with a knife.

and I hold him—

but my arms are made of flames

and my jaw is splinters

from how hard I clench it

trying not to howl.

I want blood.

I want

them

to know

pain

like he does.

like I do.

I want their lungs to fill with water

as they beg for air

and I want to

watch.

I want to

peel back their skin

with my bare hands,

burn their names

into the walls

before setting the house on fire.

I want to take their smiles

and

shatter them

with the back of my hand.

I want to be worse

than they were.

I want them to see

what real fear looks like

in the eyes of someone

who’s already lost everything.

I see red

so red

it stains my vision.

my head is a hive

buzzing with knives

and if I ever

touch one of them—

god help me.

sometimes

i punch walls

just to make the shaking stop.

but it never does.

not really.

because

the lamb still screams.

and I still

hear it.

every.

damn.

night.

and I am

so scared

of what I’ll do

to make it stop.