The Black Paint

Her long nails

scratched at the black paint,

on the windows, rusted shut

 

The darkness of her smile

glowed like the fading embers

of the house, burned

to the ground

 

She paused, and thought

about how the sun used to feel

before she shunned all life,

and love

 

The darkness of his face

painted over, like windows waiting

for someone to scratch the surface

with fingernails, like knives sharpened

 

His memory, fading to black…….

 

 

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Author: notthedane56

My heathen tendencies are waiting to blossom at the Mid-Summer Evening in Denmark. In a Country that professes to have an overwhelming population of believers in the Christian Faith, I am always reassured by their pagan ways, at least one night per year. I won't be throwing myself on the bonfire, but I plan on being warmed by the thoughts of the fun-loving Danes, burning witches at the stake, while singing songs and drinking beer!

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