Closure

A thrush of adrenaline, 


A trembling notion

Aching for a clue,

Accompanied with shattered emotions


That have been lingering

For a decade,

Or two


She came to realize

The most painful truth,

Drifting into an echo of a dream

Through a tiny façade,

Fighting all the should-s and shouldn’t-s


While striving

To stay awake, 


Hurting

Over the idealistic version

That may or may never take place,

Midst throbbing thoughts


She reaches out for her sets of knives,

All 
sharpened and all concrete,

Fighting,

This urge,

Of ending; her misery. 


Through a glimpse of hope

At this critical state, 


She has all of her knives

Soaked in nothing

But paint.

On a plain white canvas

Into bold embossed strokes,

Aiming for Closure. 


Even if it is late

Like this, she awakened,

Her empty soul

Through her diverse shades,

Noticing a dwelling rage, in exposure


Dimmed lights, midst shattered emotions, 


Still, an iconic creation took place, 


This is how she paved the belated closure, 


Which was already misplaced, 


She found herself a decade later, 


While, hearing resonances of manipulated scripts.

Forgiving herself for neglecting all indicators, 


Forgiving her intellect; for having slipped, 


Realizing the story has not been too real, 


And all her aching fears were nothing but a shield, 


With her last stroke,

She crosshatched her history,

Accepted the dream, 


Embraced –

Reality,


Turning her hollow soul

Into a masterpiece, 


Every time she looks at it, 


She feels nothing but –

Absolute peace.


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Closure Painting

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