Red ink,
Or maybe pink?
Convincing myself it's not blood,
But more likely red mud,
It could be paint?
No. Now I feel faint,
Life is one big stage,
But you never even came of age,
For I know now,
You took your last bow,
Your performance ended,
You needed to be mended,
But nobody knew,
And now I'm left with just a memory of you.
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