The angels have left the room.
They’ve been gone some years now.
She catches glimpses of them between the peaks and the valleys.
She wants to talk, but they can’t take the beating.
She travails behind her locked door.
He should be back soon.
He always returns eventually.
But the peep hole reveals only blackness.
Upon his arrival, he fills her plate with scraps of hope.
A million little pieces of temporary amnesia.
The hope turns to fear as each communion concludes.
She can live on bread and wine alone.
But she slowly withers and dies partaking from his throne.
Love is bought and sold here.
The monsters all know.
Once again her plate is empty.
The shades on the window and the chain on the door are not hers to control anymore.
The phone rings.
The devil’s approaching.
He says he is returning to fill her plate.
She has nothing to barter.
Only begrudgingly give.
He’ll intrude anyway.
The decision’s been made.
It is her soul to keep.
And it is hers to trade.
When the angels scattered,
She withered to fate.
She unlatches the chain and draws the shade.
Her soul soaked in tears.
As she gives herself away.
Her body now empty.
But her plate is now full.
It’s just another midnight.
The walls have changed color.
From flawless white to filthy beige.
Each stain a memory of matter thrown.
There is blood on the floor from the night he stood above her.
She can’t control the monsters in her room anymore than she can control the elephant just outside her locked door.
She prays he is not coming back this time.
She wraps herself in a cocoon of blankets.
Her only friend.
An impenetrable cloak is her safety.
The angels grew weary.
Just as tired as she.
She can’t fly away though, can she?