The stampede of emotions,
of “just a little longer, please”
and “I can’t handle this anymore”.
Air circling in the body,
Air pressure built up in the ears,
Air sucked out of the lungs,
She imagines she loves him.
Tries to convince herself he’s perfect,
even after “I’m sorry, It won’t happen again!”
The red darkens to blue,
bruises they become.
Both of them assemble an encloser
to reject tears,
to entomb scars.
She just knows,
this battered path,
this fragmented relationship,
will resurrect the facts she has to face.
Four black walls,
cream cushion inside,
its purpose to hold a dull corpse,
and her fake diamonds along with her Rolex.
Green fading to yellow,
on the outside ring,
covered to pasty white,
forever closed eyes, shut tight.
With evergreen velvet slings,
enroping the chrome handles,
with one last shimmer,
becoming encased in the surface of the earth.