Let the countless petals on the sheets, be the count of our Lies,
Black or white, today we bleed red.
Here is where we talked of us,
Here in the red bed.

It hides, soothes, but scares nonetheless
It is what I paint my cages with
Just for an illusion of a possibility of freedom
For a moment forget the manacles' caress.
It is what lies beneath the garb of sanctity
baring us for who we are.
God or no,
Noir-nothingness is where it all began
And end once we char.

A graceful death,
That's what she always wanted.
No one has to mourn her.
A sound sleep and smooth slide to oblivion
Flesh turned to ashes and strewn to feed the wind,
If that's the only way she could "go places",
So be it.
Surrounded by people
Clambering for just a peak at perfection.
Given her good looks, She was used to attention.
But this does have a quality of a celebrity.


Skirt wrapped around her endless legs,
One feet crossed over the other;  
Gloved fingers absently pulling at the pearls at her throat
And her face...
Her face.
Serene in quiet acceptance
Eyelashes fringing her cheeks,
The red lipstick was perfect.
No not perfect, it was angelic.

Who could have thought
A picture of such serenity would have
shattered glass on the mangled car roof for a bier.  
  
This was her leap of faith indeed,
Alas the let it be the final adieu,
The show is over.
Take a bow, Love.