Evening

The cold sting of steel against smooth, warm skin
Drawing a thin crimson line to the surface.
The fingers of one small hand, clench into a fist,
and open again,
sending forth a river of immortality.
a few drops of life
soak into the rug.
Mother will have a fit. She loved that rug,
more than she loved me.
This house meant more to her than I did.
Open, close, open, close,
a flood of red flows from within,
some landing in the prepared bowl,
most landing on the rug,
but a few drops have a course all their own.
They land on furnature,
on statues mother so painstakingly cares for,
on pictures.
A single drop lands on my father's face,
spreading like some horrible rash,
turning his face into a bloody mask.
The pressure of the razor again
and a second line appears on the cream skin.
More waves,
This time through the mind,
through the eyes.
Waves of color,
twisted, gruesome rainbows
flashing through the darkness.
I can't mess this up.
This is final,
my last payback.
This is the last act, my curtain call.
Now is my evening,
and it is time to say good night.