(Please click the "Play" button to follow along with my voice)
The night air slowly poured over the quiet like a thick blanket of snow muffling even the tiniest sounds of God’s creation. Her four walls seemed even smaller within it still, her foundation but a thimble and roof a parasol. Her soul trapped within like a forgotten drink casually placed aside, forgotten and lonely, savoring thoughts of soon being found and consumed. But for now the shards of her heart pierce the night like the incessant screams of Banshee, which remain unheard for layers of loneliness – and her heart’s silence carries the night.
The pillow drinks her tears, yet offers no comfort. And the Banshee wails through the night, echoing in the chambers of her heart now ripped from its womb – open – beating and bleeding into her hand. Banshee falls to her knees to sponge the droplets, but the blood of empty hearts can not fade. It stains the world as her open wrists have stained her death gown. Her eyes close and the unknown begins, her gamble that it strips away her blanket of alone-ness…… But she dies alone. Forgotten. And lonelier than before. And the Banshee cries again.
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© 2013 John Richter
johnallenrichter 