Sandra Ray’s heartbeat is less a melody than a shallow vibration. The screws meant to hole her steady Spun down her drain toward nowhere at all. To battle miseries and ecstasies Just what she needs, or so she thinks, is to drag a blade across her pale skin Oh, watch her bleed. Her blood not as red as the cardinal who sings of love so fleeting, in the snow-drenched evergreen; the color of jealousy. Sandra’s eyes glow it bright, lips shudder in fright. She cut too deep, and now what to do? Besides keep wishing she were more like you.
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