red room

A room awash in shades of red. 

Crimson red walls bleeding from accents of white and gold. 

Cherry red wood floors glossy with sheen, yet scuffed and scratched from years of abuse.

Long, heavy drapes darken the room for hidden demons and silently spoken secrets. 

Bone white furniture, porcelain skin, colorfully romantic dresses, and plain, flowery painted tea sets clash against bleeding walls.

Heavy drapes hiding beautifully open windows. 

Windows which only allow the grace of golden sun during those sad, lonely summers. 

A sun, which, as the afternoon bled into twilight, became brighter and richer in its pomegranate reds and apricot oranges.

The rich beauty fading, like that of a woman aging, decaying, slowly withering away as the sun. Her beauty, withering away with the woman, still remains even as she wrinkles. 

Her mind diseased and deranged. 

A withering woman with moonlit silver white hair, dark eyes, and soft ears that knew of demons and whispered secrets spoken on rattlesnake tongues.

A bleeding red room filled with malice and melancholic summer allure. 

A room empty of happiness, drowning in unseen spiteful venom. 

A room with a sole woman withering away as she stares out those open windows, whether it’s a melancholic summer or a joyous winter.

As her mind decays, she sits there always, wearing gray and looking seemingly unkempt. 

She sits there as those bloodied walls scream with life and reek of demons, rattlesnake secrets, and the cigar smoke of old gluttonous men.