when they bleed when my toes bleed I know the passion of art. the rose’s red scent is the iron of my blood. my fathers’ bloodlust to see his little ballerina thrust out from his loins on bandaged toes. tears mark my dress my happiness is his. my happiness is his but the passion is mine always wherever it trails from me I have been there. the scabs on the floor are my life’s story. you cringe and I am renewed. my hatred of you never dies. my blood wells forth like a spring eternal feeding a land crying for sustenance. I will live on. Composed by Mo Ben-shir (for the “little ballerinas” everywhere) Back to Banshee's Quill Home