Written for Haibun Thinking Week 2 Challenge in response to the following literature prompt:
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm
There is something compelling about holding fire in the palms of your hands. It licks your fingers, scorching porcelain skin, peeling sheer layers of exquisite lace, laying bare dry bones. Blinded in the haze, inhaling burning vapour, energised by that rage, a raging inferno you become; a complete holocaust, surrendering to the irresistible call to sacrifice at the altar of a proud, bitter righteousness.
Spewing forth meet judgements she flew through the wind, shattering images absent, perceptible only in her own reflection. Bitterness swept through her vain veins, poisoning her members, paralysing. Nobody stood a chance before such fury, not even she.
rage ravages innocence –
young heart slowly dies