Ms. Nurse of Fate and Color Shades

     Pick me, then prick me,
Now tell me what sort of blood I have.
Is it a sweet-red, like candy?
Are my red and white cells and snake-veins like
A beating peppermint stick?
Am I a walking, talking sunbeam,
A rainbow-lobotomy?

Or, is my street-blood a bit rusted?
Does it seem to shout,
“This girl is plain filthy?”
Does it feel the need to call me out?

My blood may be rich,
A scarlet murderess.
Then I’d be no trophy wife or object,
No devil’s secretary.
Oh, Nurse, tell me which girl I am.