"They never think of what they say. They don't see the eyes far away. One as conceited as a god above would be one to send a word or a dove. The words stand still, the empty hands to fill, the voice speaking becomes shrill. Voice cracks, meaning lacks, letters lost, rational thoughts tossed. Flames die to embers separating what was, what could have been, and what could still be. All that matters is who decides to put out the flames."
Blood and flesh still remained on the shards of mirror still intact to the frame. The sink now a mosaic with coagulated blood as the grout. The smaller pieces of mirror down the drain reflecting the fluorescent above creating a light at the end of the tunnel. Clothes neatly folded on the toilet between the sink and clawfoot bathtub, to which circles of red ran in an even pattern over.
Droplets of crimson rushed down the islands of flesh into the water, creating dancing waves of red slowly dispersing into a softer shade of pink in the once clear water. The porcelain tub staining second by second. The backside of her thigh gleaming in the shard of broken mirror slipping from her right hand under the tide. Her head dipped back against the now two-toned tub. Eyes open, mouth slightly ajar, any remnants of a pained face vanished into the sea beneath.
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