On Bleeding

Sat, supposedly insulated from the horrors of real life, writing the chorus of a hot new rap song, I noticed the strings on my guitar had an odd, dark shine to them.

Then I looked at my hand.

And realised that what I’d taken for sudden oxidising was in fact the bright red oxygenated contents of my no-longer-youthful arteries.

Blood had been spread all over my hand by the rigorous strumming, all over the table, all over my fretboard. Everywhere. Loads of blood.

And the reason?

Earlier today I stuck my hand inside an empty tin of Baked Beans in order to lick the last bits of tomato sauce off my own fingers. And cut myself open on the rim.

I’m a disgrace.

Have a pleasant Monday…