Miss Mandala
Have you seen this girl?
Blue Saturday Evening.
Rain-frosted windows frame the amethyst city against obsidian clouds.
There’s an invisible hole in my stomach that food can’t fill.
I sit down at the piano and play her song.
Sounds like a cool breeze passing through an abyss.
Uninterested in her own beauty and beyond unaffected,
I see her sitting in a field of daisies. Preoccupied with death.
Her aura is monochrome.
Radiant black.
What blinds her eyes to life’s gifts?
Cigarette smoke?
She quit months ago.
Threw all her pills away.
To embrace the cold dark night.
It sits in her lap and purrs as she stares through the ground.
I get up from the piano to see her face materialised on the balcony.
Mascara waterfall.
I know it’s just the rain.
I ask her how she feels.
She tells me that she had a boiled egg for breakfast.
I tell her she’s beautiful.
She doesn’t hear me.
I ask myself how can I love someone so… translucent.
And then she looks at me and I remember.
In her eyes I can see my own sorrow.
She pops my collar and lights my cigarette.
We watch traffic together until the skies clear.
As she gazes at the stars, I imagine that I see the corner of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly.
I get caught looking.
She blows me an ice cold kiss before flittering away into the moonlight.
