The only colour on her face
Were the memories of blood streams that ran like a race.
Running down to stain her dress,
Like the one she wears now: the one kept for best.

Though she can’t feel its silky embrace,
Or the tassels, ties, the ribbons, the lace.
She won’t see the bands on her fingers,
Where the white unwhethered skin still lingers.

The cuts that never got the chance to heal,
Then comes kisses and hugs, she never got to feel.
Her skin soaks in the tears that fall,
Though her closed eyes won’t see them at all.

Her family come from far and wide,
Her best friend by her side.
Praying to God in a hushed whisper:
“Please, take care of my sister”.