For months the blood drained out of the tiny holes 

Where feathers once rested. 

I was certain the bleeding would never stop. 

I could see no path forward. 

They had destroyed me,

What was the use?

One day I found a small vile, at first I felt it no use

then after a while,

I began collecting the metallic drops,

I lined the shelves of my mind 

With the memories of all they’d done to me. 

At least that way the stains would stop. 

I’d saved one feather on my journey out of their castle

It wasn’t until now I knew what it was for. 

Perched under a tree 

I watched the water flow. 

I got a bottle off the shelf.

I dipped my feather in

And all I felt would be forever etched

in red ink.