Walking through a darkened hallway

with nothing but multiplied shadows

There lies a portrait framed with nothing

but enchanted sterling silver.

A portrait of vibrant rainbow flowers,

stained with a bitter ink

overflowing the petals.

It is the fragment of an eternity of misery

lasting forever.

Grabbing a candle illuminating the portrait

I burn it.

It’s blazing but I walk away,

unfocused on the fact that it’s on fire

and not damaged,

unfocused on the massive flames

consuming the shadows,

only focused on walking away

as a puppet who controls her ventriloquist.

As I exit, I turn around

to the burning mansion.

I leave a rose in front of the door

wilting itself away.

“End your suffering, little rose . . .

This burning house ended mine . . . ”