Plates
I walk into the room of plates
So polished and pleasant
Neatly placed on their shelves
A museum of ornamentation
works of art pleasing my eyes
White walls of sophistication
A calming, well-lit ambience
Each plate displayed in its own spot,
Sitting there elegantly, untouched
I pick up a plate hesitantly
Shaky fingers trace the circumference
Blue flower patterns circled
Take in the last bits of beauties
I let the air sharply fill my lungs
As my grasp doubtfully lets go.
Shattering porcelain echoes
An eerie atmosphere strikes
The first sin in heaven.
I grab the next plate, raging
Throwing it with all my strength
Shards of glass jump eagerly
To make their way into my skin
I frantically keep going
Reaching for every corner
One wall after the other
Movement of a mad women
Groans and gasps grow heavier
As I empty the last shelve
The ground is full of blood stains,
Pieces of what once was
Burn my feet with every step
As they stab through bare skin
Leaving footprints of maroon.
A guttural scream screeches
Scratching my throat to bleed
I collapse on the red ground
Choking on my own blood
Panting for a breath of air
Hours of deadly silence pass,
I get some of my strength back
I start moving my hand—
Not sure it is my hand
Place my palms on the splinters
Push myself off the ground
Every inch of skin aches
As I press my weight on it
I stand up, dripping red
“I have to clean this up now.”
25/9/2025