Furtive Voyeurism

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Her intestinal mind was a tapeworm starving for clarity through undigested knowledge. Her demons barked in parables to the transverse shadows draping her room with metaphors. And she poured another shot: stepping to the edge of sanity with her toes curled and eyes closed, oblivion responded with the voice of God. 

Her canvas was always splattered in gold, but it was the red smears and yellow flowers that revealed freedom housed in the negative space. Unlocking life's vault with a skeleton key, she sighed with acceptance and she drew the curtains closed. 

And with the darkness caressing the room like a serpent's tongue, her mind finally grew quiet.