I live in a brothel
The reds and the low lights hide my shards
The blood that is spilt every night
If not in this room then the next
I come from the glass bangles
And sometimes from expensive wine bottles
Occasionally, from the broken mirror too
It really is easy to find me there
Hearing screams is quite common
Pleasure filled ones, not quite
Not one day passes by
Where I'm not held to the neck of a woman
I wasn't red, originally
But this place… There is so much red around
I have forgotten the other colours
And they have forgotten me
My shine has dried up, as have my eyes
But somedays, somedays…
I cry the red tears of those girls
As they bleed on my bed.