I am a silent scream. My soul
Spits at broken glass hanging from the wilting sun
And the moon colors it a glowing red.
A red like the ruby of my lips as I dream they would be;
White dress, ruby lips, black silk lining the inside of my coffin.
Pages of photos litter the ground and
People kick them. Step on them. Those were my memories,
The visions I had, and the world I wanted to live in.
The dust and grime erase the ink and leave
Blackened footprints over the things I once remembered.
The memories were erased, like a sentence in a diary.
Verses written on the page and similes
Raining among the mind of the writer.
And the inspiration is gone.
A blank page replaces the one with images dancing across the ink.
A chill spirals in from the open window and the moon shining
Across the expanse of city lights and fire.
A melancholy sound radiates from the belly of a cat
Perched on the roof of an abandoned house.
The girl is there with her star charm anklet, bolts
And screws still loose in her joints.
Her doctor never came to fix her. She is still as broken as a glass slipper.
Her new hideout devoid of mold and charcoal, but filled with
Tears and memories of the pain lived there.
She reads it.
She find similes in the haunted parts,
Sees the tears as currents in a river
And views the poetry written like leaves in the wind.
Yet everything is dead.
And everything was a dream.