First blog and a poem

it happened in the bathroom

you picked a scab on my bed, you started bleeding
on my bed. it happened
in the bathroom,
in the watercloset next to my clothes closet
where the walls are green and the lamp chain is bluesea
shells from a bracelet from my baci.
You picked a scab and I was dabbing at the spot slowly,
it didn’t need to be so slow it was almost lacking utility, but
we were talking. You had a bit on your shirt,
you were concerned it would stain.
then we had a simple miscommunication, you and I
between words. A matter misinterpreted from my
lips to your lips and I explained myself slowly,
slower than I needed to, almost lacking utility, but
I explained my way slowly and our eyes caught in the mirror
like your nail caught on your scab and started it
bleeding. It’s not that I love you or am sorry you hurt yourself really, but
now I see those green walls and that bluesea
shell chain