She seized with unclean hands

the cusp of a new day dawning,

crumpled it into a little wad

throwing it into clouded sky.

She chose instead to relive

the glory days of their love,

two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,

a perfect harmony until

they no longer balanced.

He had blackened and charred

while she was still unscathed

in her own demented mind

as she threw gasoline

around his sleeping hulk

and lit a match which flamed

with such exquisite beauty.

The scorched flames arose, as

she clasped vignettes of the past

to her besmirched breast.

Yesterday was smoldering

in the embers while she

had tossed today away forever,

in rumpled shreds of darkness.

Tomorrow would arise

like a burning phoenix

as would her new beginning

out of the strewn ashes

vacant without him.

#Darkness #Challenge #LoveAshes

She sat alone, entirely alone; imperceptably alone. She had shut the door and (as a precaution from catching cold) the curtains, as well as the windows, were tightly closed. She sat at her little table with its curved legs and modest drawers. The handles elaborately shaped and untarnished from persistent use. She sat looking forward, with her hands in her lap, a face in the elegant vanity frame staring back: naked; real. There was just enough light to discern deep bags under the eyes and worry lines carved into the corners of the mouth. Like in a secret lab, she had before her a number of special jars and contraptions to serve various jobs.

She poured some liquid into a well used sponge and taking the slimy thing to her face proceeded to polish and buff as one does with patented leather. When this was caked on (and dried) she methodically moved on to a very pointed stick, which she took in one hand, while with the other, she stretched an eyelid simultaneously over and down. With a grimace she held this pose, proceeding to scrape across the upper lid with black grease from the sharpened tip. This complete, she grimaced again and drew across the lower lid, right next to the eye. And then she repeated everything on the other side--stretching, scraping, twisting her mouth and straining.

With a sort of miniture sweep, she dusted dirt from a dish over her eyes. Next she took a tube of something sanguine, and curving her lips as if in a mock grin, smeared the fresh blood round and round; smacking her lips finally in an automatic reflex, up and down. Taking a bristled brush, not unlike a chimney sweep, she precariously rolled oily gunk upon the tips of her eyelashes. Then taking a scissor like device that ended in a clamp (rather than the customary blades) she vehemently squeezed the lashes between the metal, so that they were forced back-- and hardening in the black liquid, they stayed curled up like that. With a pair of pinchers, she winced, yanking out several lashes from her brows.

Lastly, she took pieces of plastic from her head. Unrolling them along with strands of falling out hair, she then varnished the mounds with a fixative spray---just like one does for an impermenant work of art that is about to be put out on display. She looked in the glass and gave it a practiced smile. She was pleased to see that there was nothing left of her there...

The unaltered face

Beneath the skin

One cannot displace

It lies within

Invites the owner

To an iced hellraiser

Where the donor

Offers an appraisal

For deeds ill done

And praises the frailty

That allowed no one

To escape mortality

Welcome the puppeteer

Who describes the puppet

As mighty under veneer

But too weak to set

Free because we do

What we desire

And once we’re through

Who puts out the fire?

The mover and shaker

Of magnitude 8 events

Makes us one of the makers

Then pretends to circumvent

Ready to be visible

But hiding in leech location

Invites one to be invincible

How seductive is salvation?