Sitting at her windowsill, watching as thick caramel
Ran down her hands, mimicking the flowers petals
Of the world outside withheld by thin simple glass.
Running down the pane, rain fell in thick drops
Heavy as can be, yet only leaving a faint whisper.
With a sigh, the woman washed the liquid from her hand
Sadly, she glanced at the red on her hand
Flowing down as thick as rich caramel.
The clock in the room releases a chilling whisper.
The rain gathered in small pools on the petals
As crimson gathered in her palm in large drops.
The sight wasn’t new, as she wiped it all on the glass
Deep crimson ran and played down the glass
The rich lifeblood from the woman’s fragile hand.
She simply stared, transfixed by her own drops
Running with the rain down to the bowel of caramel.
Bending to their weight, the inside flowers dipped their petals
In the tainted sweet. And without even a protesting whisper.
Bowing in her own sorrow, the woman heard a darker whisper.
The clock chimed darkly, lowly, held behind smoky glass
Decorated with paintings of golden roses and flying petals.
A single large silver rose studded with rubies made the clocks hand.
Behind the silver was simple wood, painted rich like caramel.
The bottom of the clock ran crimson, covered in precious drops.
The woman starred sadly at those crimson drops.
They came and went commonly as quick as a whisper.
How she wished so deeply instead they were bits of caramel,
Locked within their pleasant home of crystal glass.
But instead they were precious life, seeping from her hand,
Redder then even her beloved roses with vibrant petals.
Mocking her life, the roses gave their precious petals,
Losing them to merciless rain and its chilling drops.
The woman only sighs and watches her scar grow on her hand.
She can still hear a familiar voice, though all that’s left is a whisper,
Of a lover she had far beyond her fragile world of glass
Wrapped in sweets and kindness of ever pure caramel.
Once again, the hand of the clock says ‘’midnight’’ in a whisper.
The roses drop their petals like the woman’s crimson drops.
And she remains locked in glass surrounded by sweet caramel.