Lily pads in stagnant water where they collect the day’s rain, gazing up in a foggy forest with jagged edges tinged green in a gray sky, vines climbing up marble columns and ensnaring statues, spiked crystals glistening in cool moon rays of light, the Duke and Duchess seated together on gilt edged chairs and clenched hands, “Little by little” she whispers to herself under the neon lights, flowers bloom from the open wounds on her wrists, tall and heavy doors crashing shut with an ominous thud, jasmine blooming at midnight, “Some of us are just better at faking it” she says and gently wipes the man’s bloody face, a fox sleeping gently under the cover of a fan of ferns, your key no longer unlocking their door, broken glass panes in the windows of your childhood home, trailing her fingers through river water, “I’m a sinner” she cries, “Aren’t we all?” he smirks.
Alette Anastasia 