Unquenched By Punishment

Writing backwards and simultaneously towards the beginning, he had killed her, exactly how he had not known; all his life now witnessing her crushing death, bloodied temple fragmenting cracks caressing pearl flesh, the wounded wooden floor receptacle to her body nesting in a precious white spring dress assaulted by bright red roses, ineligible to rot into the dirt, too indisposed to simplify his existence; never found, never punished, guilt his long term memory, on the wooden floor, her face emancipated of all expression but for his, a bundle of solemn histrionics, circumstances ever transcending him before he could mature or react into them, guilty! Guilty!

Little girl, stands locked in her room, her recalcitrant behavior unquenched by punishment, little girl with her white flower dress, in her cell of definition, isolated confinement, reviewing the pearl door that seals her punishment, it is closed, the bedroom is calm, her steps cause he to reach the window, where she sees an immensity yet unexplored by her, a firmament that has not yet declared war against her, she captures the yellow rays of sun as it intrudes to brighten her glorious pearl white dress, a barely discernable smile approaches her face, and then an indiscernible feeling, “How to get grounded for life.”

I keep on waking up through this filth, a war raging, push button diplomacy at the helm, and my religiosity is irritating to rise above the stench, I want to crawl inside of my spiritual cocoon and ravage my carnal self with traitor death as my true foe, may my mighty struggle against him jest his victory absolute, no reincarnations, no contemplation, I don’t want to dream anymore.

I rose startled from this vindicating nightmare: I had never killed her.

RC