Sascha Wong

May 19, 2006

Block D

Beautiful Disaster

Amethyst, crimson, and sapphire,

Gallop across the sky,

As she sits, enveloped in the aroma of artificial citrus,

Laced with the fragrance of fresh cut grass,

Tickling, outlining her curves.

Peace. Serenity. Silence.

Epitome of perfection.

Suddenly the lingering sweet memories,

Are overwhelmed, conquered by the stench of infidelity.

Deception. Anger. Ancient secrets.

A concoction so brutal.

It’s thunder with a heartbeat.

The forest weeps,

As he makes her fall for every empty word he says,

A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Dark grim reaper clouds loom overhead.

Stench of the afterlife… musky.

Cold, vengeful talons grip, claw at innocence,

Dragging her down into her makeshift grave,

And bury her with unspoken words and the deafeningly loud truth.

She can hear the worms spiralling,

Feel them squirming, wriggling beneath her.

Copper and salt shroud the confined space,

As she chokes on dirty lies,

As she chokes for life.

A smug, satisfied smile weaves itself onto the killer’s lips,

The scent of victory. Her inevitable lifeless body. His destruction and euphoric high.

It’s the last burning image she sees,

Before she sinks into the cold darkness.

Into the hands of death.

The odour of a crime scene,

Veiled by a murderer’s skill,

And the dearly beloved’s weakness.