In The Hour of Still

In the hour of Still,
During a time
That straddles the line
Between Dark and Light
Is her body, fading, and slowly sinking.

Inside the house
That resembles decay
And bruised dismay
Lying in a world of grey
She deteriorates piece by piece.

She lays crumbled
Upon the shower tile
Like papier-mâché of a child
And she feels the thick sloppy spurts of water
Beat upon her neck
Like a fast heartbeat

The world is tilting
For she is softly talking
And violently rocking
With her arms wound about her knees
Searching for the comfort.

Now all that is cold
Surrounds her helpless frame,
Punishing her for what she became
When she lost all that
She could not replace.

Lights that once pulsed
Through her veins
And showered upon her like rain
Now fade and hide from her
Deceiving her existence.

Stabs of memories
Shoot across a blatant mind.
So tight they would not unwind
And then escape through eyes
That are blind to optimism.