Three

LADY IN RED

She shrinks into the shadows,

adorned in deep scarlet chiaroscuro.

Her body crumples under the weight of her own gaze.

Until darkness ripped out his silver tongue,

delusions of kindness oozed from his pores.

Unclenching his hand from her heart,

leaving a shadow behind,

to fester in his wake.

She saw red.

Ecstasy,

in place of reality.

Decay,

a delicate wound eased by her hand.

Stories,

she so very desperately wanted to believe,

she was desuving off.

Alone in a corridor of empty canvas,

Sat, plunging brushes into the matter of the universe.

In that self-inflicted darkness,

I burn to find some flicker of light.

For Art is conceived tween that light and the nameless.

Born in the hours of Ecstasy, pain, hope and despair.

Tapping salted tears from bristles.

A figure begins to emerge from darkness.

That same darkness remains embedded deeply,

within the twitching socket of there eyes.

watching on as the world moves forward,

from behind a pane of glass.

Time tricles by,

water droplets seep down the window.

Wait.

There's light outside.

It caresses the outmost edges of the figures face.

A peculiar thought arises,

the abyss faces the light,

and nothing but The pain stands between them.