He hurt himself on a small nail protruding from the old carpet.
A few drops of blood, nothing serious.
A bandage; the matter is settled.
The accident is forgotten and time passes.
One morning, blood stains on the ground
Very close to the wound, a new wound.
The blood flows quickly.
A tight bandage around the foot, he is confident it will be enough.
Then the leg gives way under the pressure.
From the ankle to the knee, jets of blood.
The thigh follows suit, flowing everywhere.
Meters of bandage; we wrap.
Barely time to breathe, it's the turn of the second leg.
No more bandages.
Then then the torso, the arms, the head.
Stained, his blood on my clothes, my skin, in my hair.
Two gray eyes stare at me through the red strips of fabric.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI