Grinning Wound Poem by Graham Stone

Smooth skin,
So pale it seems to gleam
As if in florescent light,
A glancing blow
And the wound falls opens instantly,
Grinning at me before I know what’s happened
The skin has split and fallen agape with sick quick haste.
Inside so very white,
Not merely pale, but actually white, like snow in frosty light.
Such an ugly blight, but no blood,
I just stare at the grinning gash,
Ah, now, now I see little trickles of blood
Like little formations of ruby.
Ah, now there’s the sting, the burn,
The raw tender agonising pain,
Oh, how sickening to watch the grinning thing
Spill with pooling blood, like a dribbling imbecile,
Oh how horrid this gargling thing!
I fear suddenly it may grow teeth and tongue
And begin to sing,
So vivid is the sight!
But no, it just grins, and grins and gargles and grins,
A gauche gaping gob grinning grotesquely at me
And I start to gag with horror and reproach.
My hands start to shake.