She walked lonely
into the bar
and spotted her man
from afar.

He was sharing his whiskey,
laugh and a seat
with some harlot he would never
let her meet.

She watched like a snake
then recoiled like a doe
back to her empty home
was the only place to go.

She brooded, wrote and drew
with a heavy black ink.
What's a woman to do,
but feel pain and think?

She wrote, she read,
she drew, she bled,
it was all she could see.

He arrived dark-early,
from business, he claimed.
It was all she could do
to keep her face unchanged.

"I have an idea, honey,
listen to me,
when we wake, let's picnic
down by the creek."

He huffed an okay,
those were his yesses these days,
then he slipped to his last slumber
with nothing more to say.

She wrote she read,
she drew, she bled,
it was all she could see.

When they woke, she packed
the whole picnic, her task.
He prepared nothing,
except his old worn flask.

With her smile, they set off
for the creek.
He asked her, "how long
is this going to take?"

Just the rest of your
life, she thought.
But answered him playful,
with an 'Aw, c'mon!"

Where the creek ran quickly
and the creek ran clear,
she set the blanket out
and said, "it's perfect here."

She set the scene,
so serene and pretty.
They, the only ones,
so far from the city.

She wrote, she read,
she drew, she bled.
It was all she could see.

Nature's greens and golds
blended with the water
and opened his eyes
to how he truly saw her.

"You did all of this
for me and us,
I've been ignoring your
gift of love."

She smiled sweetly
and with a start,
reached into her bag
and pulled her tools for art.

"What's that for?"
"You will see
"Take off your shirt,
"and come over to me."

Lulled by once-
forgotten love
he took off his shirt,
and she put on her gloves.

Before he could speak,
she took off her shirt.
He swallowed his question,
and said "Oh the gifts of this Earth."

"Our love is the ink
in this pen.
Let me tattoo it onto you
to show it has no end."

With remorseful clarity,
he said, "yes."
She gestured to the water,
and they both undressed.

She wrote, she read,
she drew, she bled.
It was all she could see.

Naked in the knee-deep water,
she looked into his eyes and said,
"I saw her."

She thrashed him in the neck
with that inky pen.
It cracked within his sinew
and regret.

The blood and the ink
spilled out as a set.
He dropped like an unstrung
marionette.

Those red and black snakes
turned to dust in the water
and diluted to
a curious golden color.

She knelt and washed
the blood and love
from her skin.
Along with her feelings of liberation.

That body floating downstream
belonged to a bastard,
but was also once
my true and worthy lover.

She knelt in the water
and shed a tear,
then got dressed on the shore
when the water ran clear.

His throat, it bled
with black, and red.
It was all she could see

She packed the picnic
and walked homeward bound,
aimless as a widow
in an empty town.

She discarded her burdens
as best she could,
dumpsters don't hold
guilt too good.

His throat, it bled,
with black and red.
It was all she could see.

She entered the bar
and sat at a stool,
"is this where my husband
took me for a fool?"

His throat, it bled
with black, and red.
It was all she could see.

She thought, "Yeah, that's revenge,
it ain't supposed to be sweet.
Nothin' that can't be fixed
with a double whiskey."

His throat, it blied,
with black and red.
It was all she could see.

She gulped it down
and let it burn.
"He was a worthless man,
it's what he deserved."

HIs throat, it bled
with black, and red.
It was all she could see.

She looked at her drink
and stood up in horror.

She looked at her drink
and stood up in horror:
whiskey's the color
of blood ink and water.

She looked at her drink
and stood up in horror:
whiskey's the color
of blood ink and water.

She looked at her drink
and stood up in horror:
whiskey's the color
of blood ink and water.

She looked at her drink
and backed out in horror:
everything's the color
of blood ink and water.