Red Lace

Life-drops are dripping
from my broken
fingertips.
Sliding off.
Splattering.
How unlucky
that I need those ribbons
of beautiful scarlet
that are piling up
on the floor.

Perhaps it isn't true.
Perhaps its like all the other lies
they always tell me...
All I can know for sure
is that my
beautiful color
is filling up the space
on the floor,
and I am hiding
under all this lace.

Lace....
So delicate
as it strangles me.
So silent
as it covers me.
It is surly
stained
by now:

Pure white
has been violated.