MIDNIGHT

Seven days she says goodbye
but never means a word of her utterance.
She jumps down to feel the impact of the ground,
the fall itself serves as her daily morphine.
She laughs.

Her face, once as fine and fair as the moon’s light,
now lay disfigured, desecrated by her own two hands.
The scars are symbols of her pride
for the pain she feels is the only real thing left.
She laughs again.

Midnight, the bells ring incessantly in her mind.
Like a melody echoing through church walls
she finds the darkness ever so suitable
an embodiment of the solemnity of her thoughts.
She laughs more.

She sees beyond the light offered by pagans
and she declines the warmth of the blazing fire.
Her only salvation, it comes to her
in a black hooded cloak with a shimmering scythe.
She laughs harder.

She lays it all at his feet.
She breaks the chains that bind her to her mortality.
No tears are spent for she dearly loves to laugh.
One fell swoop is all it takes.
Her laughter echoes.

Silence.