It would be much too dangerous to talk about
Or remember at all
That night

A piercing scream from behind
A clatter of fallen crockery on the floor
Crimson fills the apron she wore
I do not yet think to ask how or why
My heart beats a silent cry
I kneel beside to feel her warmth
All I feel are empty eyes slice into my soul

My eyes look over the pool of red
Gathered by the drops her body shed
But for the blood, she can be lost in dreams
I think, as I imagine her pale in peace
Grabbing a mop
I cleanse her of the damaging dye
Her body now remains uncoloured, untainted
Of that which still inflames her quintessence
She's been marked, I realise
In an irreparable scarlet
All action, all words- scattered on the tiles
Lying broken and futile