Red and salty, heavy tears running
down her cheeks like grotesque hot
streams mapping her pale, bluish skin.
She saw two black eyes in the mirror
whispering words about the end, of death
that cometh near & of her own unspoken fear.
It was not her own death that she saw
in there – her nails still painfully biting
into her flesh & small, sharp teeth mercilessly
stinging dry and burning dark-blue lips - ,
She knows she’ll live to see the end
of all eternity, sun coming up at dusk,
and stars burning bright in sunny skies,
lakes of poison giving birth to butterflies.
But she will also live to witness her two
beloved black eyes closing on the world, and
then, all over again – for centuries untold –
she will hold tight to them, desperately
trying and forever failing – they slip away
and drown in dreaded waters.
With painful arms still holding to what
has gone and soul that strives to follow,
she will be left ashore to wait.
One century will fly her by and they
will come to the surface to smile and
wipe away dry, bloody tears, and
pick dead leaves from tangled locks
and kiss away the little monster’s fears.
And she can’t even pray out of this circle of dark bliss and bright torment, for she knows no god in heathen or mild skies, in Northern frost or Southern sun that would listen to a little monster’s faint & sobbing voice. Her crying – tired and crushed under something she knows not to exist-Time – will die out, silent and unknown like her own existence in a world that cannot look at her red eyes glowing, her blue skin and her unsettling grey dress without a shudder of terror and disgust. She will turn into a hillock by the Lake of Dead Memories of Old; no grass or flowers will grow to whisper of her to clouds and birds of sorrow; the noise of the world will silence what it cannot contain …