Poetry: Consummate

Echoes wander the hallways deep. I stand at the red door, when I should be asleep.

I can hear her say, in the hollows of my mind:

“Sister, sister, sister dear. Don’t you know that love is nothing to fear?”

Below the door, wet crimson fingers reach, seeping, shining, staining all.

I slip the key into the lock, hear its cheery tumble cry as if to mock:

“Too late.”

Red door and matching puddle, the smell of death none too subtle.

I step inside. A room of shrouded edges and haunting violence.

“Sister, sister, my dearest one. Why didn’t you listen when I said you should run?”

There she lies, alabaster beauty on her marital sheets and bridal veil.

I touch her cheekbone, I want to feel her though I know I’m alone.

Her corpse, her flesh, her fleeting warmth.

He took the one thing that mattered most.

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