Blood is running down my leg. There’s nothing I can do: I keep walking. Red drips toward my boot Soaking the edge of my sock. One foot in front of the other; Don’t look down. Itchy and cold on my thigh, Drying quickly, it flakes away, Staining my jeans: Crimson on black. I look up at the moonless sky. What’s the sense in stopping now? Home is still So far away.