The ReflectedBlood flows from re-opened wounds.
An eerie and silent yearning was rekindled
As I read those morbid words.
The sadness of that girl
Struck a singed nerve (or so I assumed),
And my life flashed before the eyes of a ghostly soul,
Truth seeping in, rising from a shadowy subconscious.
The horror of her fatal blood-bath,
Dripping from the unwanted reflection
In crude, crimson letters –
“Am I beautiful enough now?”
I was too late to tell her…
what I needed to hear.