Her colour

Red lips

She said before she moved she never had the courage to wear it but has worked it into her everyday look

Red eyes

After lines of powder and all nighters

Red nails

They’re chipped from the instruments she strums but she doesn’t bother to take it off

Red wine

Her drink of choice at ever restaurant and bar we found ourselves at

Red wrists

The blood keeps flowing and the ambulance takes too long and the world is now blurred by a thick coat of your red blood. I don’t believe I’ll ever truly be able to scrub it off.

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