Blood Brothers

We were blood brothers,
we had slashed our palms
with a fishing knife from my father’s tackle box,
and pressed our hands together
so the blood would mingle.

I would always carry his blood,
and he,
mine.

Sharing a beer
we had stolen from the fridge in his garage,
we disappeared into the forest.

Only I would ever return.

We were blood brothers.

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Filed under original writing, outlaw poetry, poetry

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