As little red rubies sprout from her skin,
Popping up like weeds from soft, pale, blue veins,
She wishes she could see his face again
And trade each loss for ruby-studded pain.
Her face, stone cold, as she watches her blood;
Daddy would never want Callie to cry
And so she plugs the constant raging flood
With pins and needles, lie upon lie.
The blood, they say, is where all life is found;
She carved a spring of youth upon her wrist.
But in the letting, lost a dearer sound.
Her heart grew quiet, slipped into the mist.
I promised him I’d live out all his dreams,
But life, I’ve learned, is harder than it seems.
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