Still think she's the Joker?

i have blood on my hands
dried beneath my nails
that old rusty colour
coated over with the bright red
of freshly oxygenated liquid
and if they ran the scans--

which they will
after they wrap me in those
cold silver hooks
and tell me about silence
and my right to it
that is where i will laugh
loud and long and with a tinge of cyanide
until they supress me
repress me
slid the silver slip of sanity
under my skin
and force it (unwilling) in
to spread and combat my slippery blood
and subdue me finally to somnolence--

they will find that
this blood is no stranger
to these hands
that it slides inside these veins
familiar and unquestioned
that silence was the weapon
that stole this life from light.
and that compliance was the accomplice
that the killer and the victim
are laid in the back of this squad car
while the officers discuss the yellow tape
and mark the lines of do not cross
across a life overflowing
with others words and worlds