untitled | n.k.
he dreams about blood.
he shouldn’t —
there was no blood when —
but he does.
he sees it on his brother’s face,
on all their faces (and it’s
silly, because she wasn’t even there,
why is she here in his dreams
with red tears and
a broken smile?).
he smells it around him,
thick and cloying,
and he tastes
the copper on his tongue.
he feels it — on his hands, his wand,
the color leaching from his hair,
darkening, staining
his body, his soul.
he wakes in a cold sweat,
a sob choked in his throat and a voice
in his head,
“fix this.
do better.
be better.”