Blood.

Blood.

There was so much blood. From your veins to bedsheets. Dark smudges on white. Ruining the sheer purity. Akin to the red lipstick stain on your shirt.

There was so much blood. From your veins to sink. Dripping slowly. Captivating you to nothingness. You almost called out to your father to show him this new art. Like leafless branches spreading out in fire.  Summoning you to join them. To burn. Then you look at your wrists and smile. You are already burning. Burning scarlett.

There was so much blood. From your veins to the floor. Curving, mixing with water. Swirling in elegant patterns. You smiled and glanced at the ceiling – at last, you have made something beautiful.

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