Dedicated to my best friend Mac who committed suicide when I was 17.


A vase.
Set amidst the vibrant colors of the dying sun.
Perfectly shaped to the naked eye.
Proud and strong it stands at attention,
Yielding its unconventional charm to the otherwise desolate place.
But deep inside the vase lies secret,
unknown to the outside world.
The cold hollow inner walls cry for substance.

Empty.
Abandonment has led to depleting walls,
cracking in their neglected state.
No one sees.
The outer grace deceives.
The rotting reaches to the heart of it,
And slowly creeps through the bones.
It knocks on the door of the outside shell,
now hungry to consume everything.
Struggling to keep its unmatched face,
ignoring the now apparent imperfections.

A noise.
Starting quietly.
An eery, unhuman noise crawling from the belly,
growing ever louder as the cracks become more abundant,
threatening to spill the emptiness everywhere.
Finally, with heart wrenching reluctance, it gives up.
Defenseless against the rage.

Pieces.
Pieces of something once so exquisite lie all around.
The last bit of beauty destroyed by none other than itself.

Aimee Christine Pallozzi

 
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