It is a mere prick
On a white, beige backdrop
A drop of liquid emerges, however
The liquid fails to stop
A line is clearly seen
With scarlet on its surface
The red is tainted fresh
Like a virgin's, no longer chaste
A whiff of rancid stench
Soon arrives out of nowhere
Whilst the liquid, flowing,
Staining the skin of one so fair
You feel your consciousness ebbing away
As you watch the red that was once so bright
Turn to a rusty shade of scarlet
And the lovely scar on your wrist
Slowly fades from sight.
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