Forgotten Roses

The empty bottle spiraled around and around while it turned and twisted and rolled and rattled. The cap fell off but nothing came out; it was already busily spreading its numbing potion.

The newly formed liquid swam among the red waters, calming the electric pain. She breathed deeply and she sighed sadly; the potion turned to poison.

Blue changed to red, white turned to black, the calming proggressed to (killing). She took three; then forgot. She took three more; then fell asleep. She took three more; then passed out.

When I came home I was thinking about her troubles, her worries and her pains; the sadness that had come over her lately. Her blue veined hands trembled in the modern fluorescent lights when she cut rose hips for the tea; she looked like she was thinking about something. I think the rose hips reminded her of someone.

She asked me to go out for more sleeping pills at about 11. It was raining outside and I was tired, but when the wife is happy the man is happy they say. I loved her with an electric passion and did every thing I could think of for her, but she wasn't happy. I think it was because the cold white pills kept disappearing into the black of her heart.

When I came back the lights were all out; it smelled like forgotten roses. I opened our bedroom door and the empty bottle spiraled around and around while it turned and twisted and rolled and rattled. The cap fell off but nothing came out; it was already busily spreading its (killing) poison.

I think she was finally gone.