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The night had a different tale to tell, as she stared at her reflection in the moonlit bedroom mirror who spoke nothing but the truth. Something in the dark whispered. She smacked her head with the gold plated comb and exhaled. The clouds shifted an inch, and the moon shone a little bit brighter. Her heart squeezed. She could now clearly see her eyes. Pale blue with dark circles. A sunken well. Miles deep into her mind.
A wrangled cry escaped her lips but was caged within her shaken fears.
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Her fingers jammed through the keyboard, writing tales of melancholy as unholy hours of the night withered into depths of Halloween, while echoes of laughter and mirth rang into her ears like death notes. Candies covered in silver and gold adorned her entrance stand, but none welcomed her in nor stood up to trick or treat her empty house.
Smoke curled up like vines and pooled into nothingness. A shadow gasped. They saw the smoke, yet couldn't see the scorn that left it barren like her winged eyes. A pity tale on the sidewalk.
The gravel crunched. So did her heartbeat.
She ran to the door and watched how another scanty bunch of black-clad imposters, came about to peek through the boarded windows. Her bony fingers clenched so tight that the gang heard a floorboard creak. Their souls leaked out in tiny pools of empty metaphors. Her whisper rang through the mail door, like warning bells for a tornado; kicking the unwelcomed guests crawling out from her overgrown garden.
She wept until the last drop watered rose buds to life.
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She waited for the bell. She waited for the call. She waited until her lipstick ran dry and the mascara crusted her eyelids shut. She waited till her heels filed to flats. She waited till the bones unhinged from the turnings. She waited till her blood disintegrated to origami petals and flew away with time until her headboard turned to tombstones, and her bed collapsed into an ashen grave.
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She lit another cigarette and wrote sonnets on bedroom walls.
At least, she killed poets with her metaphors that no one knew how to transcribe.
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YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
