a moonless night

he paces around his dark room
the unhinged door on one side and an open window
on the other, from which only a thick wall can be seen
and only the remaining breaths of air passes
reeking through the stench of molds as old as the wall
and the half dried rain of a late summer..

it had been several full moons since he started...

how she loved the moon, he often caught her
talking to it on late nights, when he comes home
sober, and knows she'd be basking in its warmth
on nights he was not, when he does not..

and it was several nights that he didnt...

he looks back, on an unfinished portrait
the thick wavy hair crowns a face perfect in shape,
almost, if not for the small scar that dented her right temple..
ah! he remembers the wound, how that bled
in that same room, beside his bed she laid,
covering her face, but the blood glared, as if
beckoning him to come near, to see for himself
how she tried, despite the pool of blood...and tears,
to remain placid, her eyes still as clear as the stream
untouched, as she was, before they started
a dream

those eyes...

he remembers, very clearly, how they spoke to him
when he wanted only her silence
how they smiled more than her lips did after a night
of passion...she called it love, he always thought it was
just one of the many they have yet to share..

it was time for the moon to rise anew
he shall not see its light tho, it has been forever
buried behind the wall facing his window

with a trembling hand he tries once more
but the face just stares at him, giving no clue
those eyes wont speak to him now, he knows

his canvass died the day they closed, leaving him
only a shadow of what she saw, the debris
of whom and why she loved..


he hangs the portrait back
and sits by the window, praying
for the same darkness that has engulfed her
to choke out that thick lifeless breath
that eludes death, and kills everything in him