The blood that seeps into
Cracks and crevices of rock and stone.
Tile, carpet, wood. Painting painting
Painting the night with a sweetest, irony
Scent. Touch the edge, smear the finger tips.
Rouge the red, on the bathroom floor.
Parts of you, parts of us all, in the blood
On the floor.
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If you’re reading this, thank you for taking time out of your day to read my writing. I hope you return in the future.
-Alina