VICTORIA

P U R I T Y

Her pov
They say not to write on the skin:
it could poison the heart.
But you write within the rage
your arms becoming walls of art.
Your silver pen spits red ink a bleeding crystal as it flows deep.
But the sound of carving delicacies seems to drown me out as I weep.

Your pov
You were my blue crayon the one I never had enough of.
All the crayons would roll onto my paper wishing to be used.
But green cannot colour the sea.
I may never again draw
a piece showing the beauty of your hue.
But I will spend the rest of my days trying to colour an ocean as beautiful as you.

Flashback 1941
We used to sway with the moonlight and sing with the clouds. I remembered.

She was the type of girl to sit at the front of the class with a book in her hand always getting straight A's.

I kept my silence when he walked in. When he grabbed you at the hips , I kept my silence listening
to your words spill and leave stains.
Now the only A+ she can give is the blood in her veins.

Present time.
"I'm sorry buddy" i said
after stepping on his paw.
Creamy light settled over the fields and butterflies fluttered through the sky.
The dogs tail began to wag as he jumped about her feet.
A whine escaped the dogs throat as he sits on her belly now.

I look up at him
Looks into his watering button eyes.
Over amidst the darkness
a tub of pills lays flung at the wall.
"I'm sorry buddy" I whisper as my eyelids begin to fall.

———
She lives in a very small cottage in the middle of a flowery field, where people can't find her. It's just her and her best friend Charlie, her dog. She has these thoughts about how it would feel to fall from the sky feeling all the weight Your've been feeling be lifted off her and carried away as her soul leaves and she enters a new peaceful world.

A world she wished for.

———