She can taste the blood in the corner of her mouth

From when she was tripped during a struggle to the door

The iron taste to accompany the scarred ford

From when she “fell down the stairs” at the home of her “love”

The location on her face where the tears

That she uses all of her will to hold back each day

Has darkened beyond the shades of sunglasses

As a result of the hands that once held hers 

Those same hands leave marks around her neck

That her friends assume behind the concealer are love bites

And she lets them for fear of making him angry

For she believes he only does this because he loves her so much

Sadly this Desdemona prefers to channel the pain into her own

Her Othello never notices the ink-less tattoos upon her arms

Tallies of how many times he shows his love which she self inflicted

In order to redirect the pain to one that she can control

That desire to feel that she has power over one thing in her life

Could destroy her in the way she allowed it to manifest

Someone so social feels so alone inside

To the point where she makes her body her art

With intricate lines and shapes and watches the blood

The blood drips into the white acrylic canvas one final time 

As the crystal waters of the tub runneth over

She eyes a vein cut too deep and slouches in the tub

Disguising the released tears held in so long

Before those eyes set her soul free beyond

The blood red acknowledgement of his love through her art

Will be all he finds left within the acrylic cauldron

With the ring that at one time promised forever 

Clutched in her lifeless vessel’s free hand