Dark corridors

Pristine-white-Monolithic archway;
Black-velvet Roses dawning red Lilies and white-yellow Brugmansia,
lining the walls while sunlight illuminates both ends.
Your shimmering-silhouette-portrait reflecting starlight from within.

Carpet aisle laden with red petals;
Monotone piano and a hum of chatter engulfing the space,
where you once walked; The maiden long gone,
the day still framed in gold and glimmering on the wall.

Creaking floorboards now,
damp walls oozing water from leaky pipes;
Tainted blood-colored drip from the ceiling,
black walls and a crooked portrait of you.

Dilapidated old door;
Red paint peeling off;
Black moldy walls with a rusty nail peeking out; Half bent!
And the portrait in broken glass.

The door never shut, leading out.

All encased in a little,
black,
four chambered,
blood injector.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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