Blood Line

Enshrouded in black velvet despair
she drew silver-sharp paring knife
from dark kitchen drawer.

Inside her wrist
pressed blade to blue line
crowbarred the sharp leading edge of pain
away from her heart
filled with ground glass of broken dreams.

Bright blood laced
with diamond bits of glass
her life (and the color in her face)
drip
drip
dripped
to the floor.

When ebbing pain brought
ebbing despair
she reached down
dipped her finger in blood
and wrote me this poem.