Jumping in Neon Dublin

I didn't want to see the Book of Kells round that corner there. I just wanted to see MOLLY in neon pink on the corner of the street. I thought Jimmy would put my name up there one day. After I had hiked up Howth Head and nearly broken my ankle on a stone that jutted out, I swore and shook my knobby bone at the sky. I just didn't want to be a tourist. I sat at the top and hugged my knees. Looked at the ragged lips of the skin where it was torn open. I poked into it with fingers. Rubbed, slutty blood into white skin. Malted freckles took on the hue of ripe cherries. Somehow it would be ok to be covered in blood when I undertook the cliff-strides down the raw edges of stone and then onto solid ground past the cottage. Say hello to the where and who lives here.

Two trained rivulets of blood that had formed and hardened at my heel. Liffey drips. Two torn lines of skin. Stop for a cool drink at the bottom and no, don't wipe it away. It looks new.