Open wound

Millions of rainbows crush onto windows and bleed as they hit themselves against the broken glass.

Shattered pieces of mirror and silver cut open their skin, and all the color is pouring on our miserable lives!

All the life in them is slowly drifting away, never to return again, and all the hope and magik of the world will suffer as my dying heart, wounded and punctured, sewed shut again only to be cut open after a while. I hear her cry, she begs crawling, arms folded on her  skin  as if she was hugging herself for is no one there for her. All hope and faith is wasted away, but still a glimpse of light appears in her big, innocent eyes when I mention she might die. But she won't...there is no escape for her, she was the sacrifice, meant to suffer. Love and affection will always evade her desperate cries. 

She too has felt men’s strange desires of life, but never will she understand why they never think beyond life, beyond every object they can see and feel and smell or taste. Has indeed every little piece of divine died on us?

Maybe they are the ones that cut open the falling, dying rainbows, and let them bleed onto the ground. Their blood maybe was spilled on us as a punishment for every back that we stabbed, every innocence we took away, every heart we’ve wounded with selfishness and indifference.

And she just lies on the floor, where she was stricken and fell , there is where she will lay until all the voices will be silent.  Ah..life, this brutal criminal has stricken others too, but they were weak enough to commit suicide.

And in fact, why not? To close thy eyes, to feel the warm hug and get buried within your dreams, never to see the sun again, or the smile of the one you love. All they ever want is the comfort of love; must be why most suicides are committed by lovers who cannot fulfill their love.

Love…terrible monster brought in this wretched place by angels as punishment for our lack of faith. And even if we see it’s wicked eyes and bloody smile, we still jump into it’s deadly  grasp, blinded by it’s shine and perfection, for it is the only touch of heaven that has remained.

This wretched race of mortals should suffer. But you see, self purification through pain is just a myth. There is no dignity, no final forgiveness to be offered. This is pure damnation, thrust upon men for their foolishness.  The only thing they can accomplish with this insane pain is regaining the love of the close ones, or  their pity. The best one can hope for in this life is revenge, and the luck of being spared by the searing pain of the blade.

In the corner of her room, well protected by ribs and skin, she looks herself in the mirror. All the scars on her skin, like parasites, have decided to open themselves again and make their will over this weak body. They will infect her skin and make the brain twist and turn in a soup of nightmares, ill thoughts and tears until he will be able to take no more. As the heart, the body will crawl on the floor in search of a darkened corner to lay. Tears will stream on that pale face, arms will shake and shred the fair skin on the chest and neck, the lips will then kiss those wounds and tears will wash them.

Big glassy eyes will see the reflection in the mirror without recognizing the damaged person laying beyond it. Reflections…they pass like moments. My eyes, her eyes, our lips, our arms unfolding to reveal…wounds.