Two Cups Of Coffee

The silence of twilight

Never seemed so intense.

The old lady whistled

Through her bloodstained lips,

Grinning at the cup

Placed near her husband.

The aroma was his addiction

But now the coffee

Barely slides down his throat.

He indulges quite differently

Glaring at his wife taking sips

Of slow contagion

From her smeared cup.

He looks different

Every next coffee cup,

Flayed from the epidermis.

She smiles like a carcass

Whispering melodies of death

In a voice resonating

Bone snapping loud.

Her cup stares void,

His layered with slime.

She holds it closer to

Her husband.

"Drink love.

One gulp?

Don't like my coffee anymore?"

Bursting into a shriek

Of demoniac laughter,

Tilting the cup till the brim

She quenched his thirst.

Twilight wrapped

Into the phantom wings

Of the cold night.

His goggling eyes felt warmer

Melting in position

Coffee staining his bones,

Seeping through cracks,

Diluting the decay.

Planting a kiss on his skull,

She continued her chores.

The red faded out

And gave way to the white

On the cups of immortal love.

She puked blood,

Eyes piercing out of her socket

In the delirium of trauma.

She looked on at the corpse.

It has been half a year.

He doesn't drink coffee anymore.