She bled a different shade of red
Veins hollowed from the inside out
Puncture wounds told old stories
of bitterness and self doubt
The wounds broke open
the blood flowed about

You could always tell
when she was sad
Her eyes wrung out
Dried from all the misplaced
tears she had shed
The complacent look
of dread
She could feel the life
from her drain
All the hopes and dreams
once said
Now long lost riddles
crumbled and dead.
© 2014 Christina Jackson