the tinkle
of broken glass
falling lazily
to the floor
the sharp gasp
as crimson wells
a fat droplet
slowly sinking
into the threads
dying the silk
a sultry shade
of rusted apathy

the crunch of
glass beneath
bare feet
leaving a trail
from the scene
of one crime
down the hallway
where new sins
are spread across
the unmade bed
tucked in the folds
haphazardly arranged
by the sinupus shape
of writhing flesh