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My rouge droplets touch so many shades when frail fingers pick up the gauzy bottle
The rosewood I sit on groans silently under the spilled liquid as I am throttled.
Her complaints only add more floral dust to this mist of dirt
A grimy fragrance that your blushed nostrils could not avert.
Sweet wafts sprayed on cinnamon marks to crust off dried blood
A saccharine scent lathered over the invisible washed mud.
My shivers of cold wind entering this room elicit sighs from the jewels next to me
Their sparkling captious stares silence me before I even begin to speak.
I taint the skins of swindlers and tricksters every sunset
But once a fortnight, my citrus smell surrounds someone more violent than a jealous baronette,
Yet the golden mirror above me does not seem to pay attention to any of its reflections
Nor does the silver brush that spends its evening next to poisoned blades minted to perfection.
My jasmine tears sting scorched bruises of vengeance and greed
A failed attempt to cover up the stench of flesh stuck between twisted reeds.
I am a sprig of spring clustered between these winter leaves
Such icicles would never care about their inflicted grief.
My forced participation try to purify your reeking deeds
An ambrosial air your fragrant crime breeds.
But nobody here wants to hear my hushed cries
The accessories around me simply close their glimmering eyes.
I am a captive in this violet prison where I am just a victim to my inmates' ignorance
To them, this pretty perfume is just a clinging disturbance.
But there are no scratches on my translucent body that may come from your vices
No shards of glass; just a beautiful incense as your disguises.
Oh, how I wish one of these offenders would just throw me out in blind rage;
Oh, how I wish to be a dropped act from this dazzling stage;
What I would do to be a broken flask on the mausoleum!
Yet I am always handled with the most delicate hands, choking out my freedom
My requests will never heed any responses,
Not from you;
Not from my companions;
A scented fate I shall eventually accept in these eons.
-Grisha. S
YOU ARE READING
DROPS OF SCARLET
PoesíaFeatured on @WattpadPoetry reading list 'Stygian Skies' "I dream as a soulless spirit where the only music I hear is the drops of scarlet" This poetry collection follows the tales of three women lost in the past and objects they surround themselves...
