Into the Heart of this Mess (Prompt: In the ___ of ____)

Life is a series of 
huge, unpainted canvases
and every day 
I prick myself
just a little bit,

and let the blood
wash over all that space
and I’ll write a melody,
or puree the language, 
deface an advertisement
with my inky piss,
give a spare dollar 
to an otherwise
invisible veteran,

and all these 
quiet acts of agency,
are my protests 
again the mundane and 
inevitable conclusion
to this existence.

Everyday’s 
waiting for my mark
my blood, 
my time, 

and when I am taken
from this plane

if you gather 
all these explosions 
these splatters of blood
and
look deeply 
into the heart of this mess,

I pray you find
it was worth it.