"Red" Red, Red, Red.Was all she could see as she sat, contemplating the answer .. To the thick, claret, pools - That were splattered across her mind like paint upon canvas. Where sandalwood walls were smeared with vast vermillion strokes .. That seeped into her thoughts, And tore apart her dreams until she awoke... When stumbling to her feet, she ambled through the arid nights bliss .. Prodding her way across the bedroom, Not daring so much as a slight flick of the light switch. She froze suddenly - But his eyelids, pulled firmly together, stayed shut .. And she'd rather him stay asleep; Infact, she'd rather he just never wake up... She recalled his fingers of ice, Baiting her body with their gelidous, cold, strum .. And freezing her florid figure, Until she could no longer move let alone run! Her skin now burned where his fingertips once lingered, Serving as a wry reminder .. That she had wanted nothing more, Than to flee the scene and leave his languid lies behind her. Those painful images that consumed her thoughts, Had made her grow fatigued and restless .. And the golden ring on her left hand - Now felt more like an iron chain, than the gift she'd once openly accepted... The wedding band was bound tight to her fubsy finger, And seemed all that kept them intact .. But the second she felt his burning eyes, Boring into her bare flesh she was trapped! Her dainty hands stretched as they snatched at a terrycloth robe, And attempted to bring it near .. To wrap it tightly around her body - As if the thin material would protect her from all the things she feared... She watched his chest heave as he slept, While silently she'd creep in the dark .. Wanting nothing more than to kill him - To take the coldest knife and plunge it deep in his heart... To bludgeon his as he'd bludgeoned hers, And to exact revenge in the most garish measure - While leaving his blood to stain the sheets, That covered the bed they shared together. But his token of devotion, Instead forced her to shut his figure behind mountainous closed doors .. .. And slam her head back as her brittle, broken, body, Slumped down to the cold floor. And there she wept, Alone, With empty tears gliding down her bulbous cheeks .. Self pity wasn't a game she played often; But then again neither was adultery... So she picked herself up, With her sweeping shadow ascending those tall, beige, walls .. .. As she walked over to the pile of clothes, That littered the hallway floor. And gently she bent down, Picking up a white, silk, shirt from the twilight that persists .. Before breathing in its soft scents - While clenching the collar tight in her fists... Her nose tingled with smells of ginger and jasmine, As she held the shirt in her veracious grip .. And inhaled the heavenly aroma, Of an expensive perfume - A perfume her husband had never graced her with... The scent was foreign to her, Yet clung to the neatly-pressed collar she'd lovingly prepared with care .. Along with a smudge of bright, red, lipstick - In a colour she would have never dared to wear. Then, tucking her titian hair behind her ears, She gave both bleary eyes a quick, light, rub .. And pressed her fingers against the rich, ripe, smudge - To find the colour stained her tips like blood. Red.The lipstick. The lone pair of ladies lingerie she found in his pocket .. The small napkin containing an elegantly written phone number, Left her denounced and besotted... All Red.As red as the flaming tresses she played with in bold strands .. Before dropping the shirt in the hamper - Knowing later she'd wash its blood-red stain with her own hands... And day after day, She watched the bloody water swirl down that sinks open drain .. As the lipstick lifted from the soft silk, But would never really go away... It was still dark out as she slid down the stairs, To the sound of that pliant bores strident snore .. And she knew there was an hour - Before the sun would rise to wash away the events of the night before... When the wife's sojourn in the kitchen, Forced her to draw a sharp, very sudden breath - As red pools reflected moonlight onto the ceiling; Filling the room with bursts of cherry-coloured specks. The entire room was red. The floor, The walls, The ceiling, Every element succumbed to its grave look .. Her eyes darted to the refrigerator - And noticed red streaks painted upon the door as if done with a paintbrush... She recalled the hard thud of a body - Thrown against it the night before, where blood still sits upon it .. And patterns on the floor mark the steps, Of which demonic bastard left the sick deposit in the kitchen closet...She already knew what the closet held - Its tragic story was one she no longer refused to, or could, ignore .. She had seen it, She had tasted it, She had felt it, There was no denying what lay behind its beautiful wooden door... So she carefully turned the knob, And pulled the door open just enough to envision the events inside .. Where gently slumped in the corner, Was the petite body of a woman no more than twenty-five. Her pale, empty, eyes were clouded over, Her delicate hands lay lifeless in a sadistic slew of red .. And her thick tresses of titian hair were sticky, But still clung beautifully to her neck. She had finally escaped all the fights, All the anger that once burned in her now lifeless eyes .. But how unfair it seemed that the mistress lived - While his wife had died... And he had gladly played on her promise, to remain faithfully honest .. So how unfair it seemed that the husband slept in his bed, While the wife lay in the closet... It was doomed upon her the day she said, "I do." - Their marriage had plunged the depths from the start .. But in all that time there had been one thing he honoured - He hadn't been lying when he said, "'til death do us part."