I have been bleeding for a long time, visceral solder, crude and viscous oil, sinking the birds, drowning the bees. They come to tap me, the men in white hats, the women in flowered frocks and woollen stockings. Then there are workers, all in bright orange, a tight itchy swarm.
But I let them, because I have let them before. And again, I say, feel free, because I have given them liberty before. And now I am old and drained and they do not realise and they bleed me more and I hear them wondering why I look so tired.
V for vignette 