The White Canvas Painted Red

I lie here undressed and raven, 

Over the silky white canvas,

Placed amidst marbles reflecting the white, 

The serene curtains, flowing mildly, 

Useless attempt against purple sunlight, 

Falling, glowing my hairs outstretched, 

Raven black over aghast white, 

Translucent orange of dawn, 

Consider the red of my blood, 

Spreading unceremoniously against my chamber white, 

Seething from the wounds, my body bathed in, 

Oh! What a pitiful sight it is, 

White canvas, on white marble, in the white chamber,

Turning crimson, not from sunlight, 

But the pouring liquid out my side, 

Bellowing in pain, screeching, 

I sat up, 

Pulling the white duvet to cover, the uncovered me, 

Crying, cursing and yelling, 

Tears soaking me in, 

I fell helplessly, over the canvas white, 

White! Oh is it? 

Yes, yes! it is, glowing white,  

The canvas, the marble, the chamber, the curtains, 

No trace of red visible in the full sunlight, 

I threw the duvet so white, 

Oh! I was dressed, bled no more, 

Perhaps, undressed was my soul, 

Bleeding profusely, crying and bellowing, 

In the dark, lonely and away, 

The full transparent sunlight, 

Teaches, to shadow yourself,

Splattering the white everywhere, 

Soaking all the red in;