Scarlett Ink

Baked in midsummer afternoon,

Her sun kissed skin shone in the blinding sunlight,

The coral cheeks catching fancy of the summers,

The greens underneath her, feeling blessed to feel the tenderness of her.

She smiled, brooded, imagined,

Times when the string of thoughts would eclipse her from the world,

And times when she’d stop thinking at all, like a blank piece of paper

Ready to be inked into a crazy wild free story

Or perhaps smothered with blue, black or grey

Yes, the ink is blue, black and grey

Captured inside a glass bottle, staying inside its restraints

It drinks her beauty drop by drop, filling itself more and more,

Twitching, wanting, lurking.

She, enamored by the blue hue and its ability to turn black as she moves it delicately,

Keeps her gaze intact with those deep dark eyes;

A smile plastered on her face as

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she finds tiny bubbles come to life only to die again,

Oblivious of the storm raging inside those tiny bubbles,

The veil of calmness in the bottle wanting to tear apart,

The glass cracking into shades of black she’d never seen before.

Bam! The glass shatters into pieces of desire, hunger and evil greed

Ink splattering on her face like a thunder cloud breaking into the sky,

Her face ‘adorned’ with myriad shades of human and not so human,

With her lips throbbing, the black drips on her entire soul slowly and then quickly.

Her bloodshot eyes so wide apart, yet the lids finding no space to breathe,

Fists clinched into the same greens that once rejoiced in her glory, now ached under the black pain;

Only they could hear her cries, as her voice could barely find her.

The ink found its channel into another summer noon,

While she laid there- damaged, drank and dead.