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Salt cascaded across sharp jagged edges of obsidian glass,  forgotten but never in the past. Prominent and worn ,used and torn
 Once to plague your sin-laden body. twice more as an act of revenge. Now to late to mourn. 
      Old salt now replaced by gleaming pearls now specked against the solemn pink flesh, overlaying as if to blend in the darkened mess.
      A soothing, elegant swan white now splattered with crushed peppercorn emanating from deep within the night. 
Drawing eyes to marvel at such a sight, 
So full of loving hatred, blistering the heavens with each passing shooting star, each representing a dream lost to the obsessive dark. 
For every good thing has a bitter aftertaste; for every dream fulfilled, five more are wrenched from your grasp, as uncontrollable as gasping for air in a room filled with noxious gas.  
They pave a trail, burning furiously to your deprived heart, corrupting what’s left of your lifeless form no longer a prized piece of art. 
A broken mirror's frame, the only witness to such loud, silent pain, 
descending crimson droplets staining pale flesh, leaving a mark that won’t be Undone, for what’s done is done. 
Shadows taunt you from your walls, singing in unison with the wailing voices Pulsating deep within your skull. 
As the sun breaks and moonlight fades, tales of regret dig an even deeper grave. 
Hate flows freely through the cracks of dawn, 
Eyes are cased down but still drawn.
I am now a tattered art form, useless and worn

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