*A Dark and Ugly Tale

Once upon a time there was a young princess. She was beautiful and kind and just at the age where her father began looking for a suitable husband. There were many young lording’s and princes who had potential, but she denied each one. One day, quite by accident, the princess met the prince of a neighboring kingdom and fell deeply in love with him, and he in love with her. There was one great problem, her kingdom and his had been at war for time immemorial, and neither of their parents approved of their love.

I met my true love at a mummer’s performance in the king's hall. There was feasting and acrobatics and music. He was one of the musicians. The whole time he played he kept his head bowed, his eyes closed, and his body so still as to be a statue. Except for his hands, his hands captivated me as they danced like water on the many stringed instrument cradled in his lap. When the players were done they came to the high table to pay fealty to the king. I was already in love, but when he straitened from a respectful bow and I saw his gentle, laughing, hazel eyes for the first time I knew it was all over. He met my gaze, and neither of us could tear away.

I had been betrothed to the king when I was seven and he twenty. I lived in his court, and occasionally he would send me gifts, little trinkets and games when I was young, as I grew to womanhood the gifts turned to jewelry and fine silks. But I rarely saw him and knew him only by the rumors spread among the ladies of his court. Whispered horrors of whores and hanged peasants, hanged noblemen,who displeased him. Between his infrequent and impersonal gifts, and the rumors I grew to fear and hate the man I would marry. So when I met this young, kind musician with the laughing eyes and silver tongue I lost myself.

At first they met in secret; at masquerades, quiet corners of gardens and out of the way inns and music halls. They made a game of their meetings, and found a thrill in the forbidden. But soon they were found out; after all, how long can two members of royalty keep their romance from the gossip mongers? Their parents were furious and forbade them from seeing each other ever again. The princess was confined to her castle and the prince was sent far away on an unnecessary diplomatic mission to a kingdom ruled by a young and handsome queen who had been recently widowed. You see, they doubted the strength of his love, and hoped he would marry the queen and forget all about his princess. They were wrong.

We would meet in the gardens, or at the far end of the banquet hall when the king and his men were right drunk on heavy mead. He wrote songs for me, told me stories. Sometimes we would sit for hours without a word, simply lost in each other’s presence. The first time he kissed me my stomach fell out between my legs like a baby. But of course, the king found us out found us out, he beat me and dismissed him from service. But of course, it was only a matter of time before my betrothed, the king, discovered us. He beat me himself with a thick willow branch across the legs and buttock and back. It was the most time I had ever spent with him. He dismissed my musician from his service and banished him from the city. I did not see him for a moon phase, and I thought I would die from the depression.

But we found our elves, he and I, thinking ourselves so clever. Our love was true, it must triumph. A few of my ladies, and some serving boys who respected me helped smuggle him in dressed as a maid. Or perhaps he was a new servant in the kitchens brining me my mid-day meal. But the king had many eyes and the castle servants feared him. When he found out us again we were both beaten and I was confined to the castle. And yet we persisted, stealing whatever corners or seconds we could. On moonless nights he would climb up my knotted gowns and bedsheets and we would sit and talk and cry and laugh and make love. His musician’s hands were clever and strong, and those hazel eyes would hold mine as our bodies melded. We were young and beautiful and in love. Nothing, not pain nor the gods nor the wrath of the king could part us. What fools we were.

When the prince returned un-wed, he snuck into the castle and stole away his princess. Seeing that they could never be together in the world they knew, they fled together deep into the enchanted woods that no man rules and sought refuge with a band of elves. For a time they were happy, they did not mind the simple life for they were in love. It was not to last however, for they had two entire kingdoms out searching for them. Eventually the reward for information regarding their whereabouts grew so high that it tempted the elves, and they gave up the lover's secret. When they were found, there was a terrible standoff and nearly a great battle between their families' armies. But the lovers could not stand to see death in a place that they had been so happy and so they conceded and went home with their families.

When he discovered us a third time we were not beaten, but thrown into damp stone cells with moss on the walls and not a bucket to piss in. They did not feed me. They did nothing to me at all. I just sat there, learning the stones, and learning the screams of my lover. At first every cry of pain I heard was torture for me. But after time I began naming the different cries. There was splinter-under-the-fingernail at one end of the pain, and red-hot-poker-to-the-eye on the other, with a whole host in between.

After some time, all the time, no time at all, they threw him into my cell, broken, bloody and shrunken. I crawled to him, not sure if it was truth or one of the hallucinations that had started coming to me in my hunger and fear. He did not move until the tips of my fingers brushed his solid cheek. Then he cried out tried trying to roll away until his panic and pain stricken face turned towards me. There were burns all along his arms and legs, raw and leaking yellow-green puss. Two fingers on each hand we blood crusted stumps the rest were twisted all wrong. Never again would those clever hands be able to make an instrument sing. One eye (his perfect hazel eyes) was swollen shut and looked like it intended to stay that way. For a time I cradled his head on the sharp bones of my lap and we did nothing but weep. When we were dried up, I laid on the stone with him, heedless of the layer of offal and kissed him deeply, sucking the blood from his split lips and taking it into myself, as if I could leach away all of his hurts and pain. Our bodies did not feel the same together as before. Where once we had been soft and plump in youth, now our bones bumped together, clacking and clattering like wooden wind chimes. With each movement, caress, thrust, there was pain and our moans were anguished, mournful, desperate. After, he began bleeding afresh from his many wounds and I passed out from exhaustion. And yet I had never felt my love so deeply, nor ever been so satisfied by our trysts.

Now they were under heavy guard, never given a moment alone lest they try to run away again. The days passed, the full moon came and went once, twice, a third time. It seemed the lovers had forgotten one another, but this was not the case. Indeed, their love only grew stronger until each thought they would go mad with desire. At last the prince found a crack in his guard, and snuck through it quick as could be. He broke into the castle again, and again swept his princess away. They ran for a time, and hid, but ever were the hounds of their parents on their heels. Farmers who harbored them watched their field’s burn days later at the hands of the kings. Inns where they begged a bath and a bed discovered dead rats in their wine and heavier taxes at the hands of the kings. Eventually the young couple could not stomach the pain that followed in their wake. They grieved deeply, but could not bring themselves to part a third time. Eventually they visited a witch who lived right smack on top of the border of their two kingdoms. She brewed for them a poison, one that would be painless and quick, for she had once been young and had an ill-fated love as well.

When I woke I said the only word. "Why?"

His lips gave no answer, but his one eye held me with such intensity and sadness that I knew. And we both wept again. I can't tell you if we spoke but we did not make love again, that I know. I think we just sat there cradling each other, perhaps sleeping, perhaps weeping. Once there was a fit of manic laughter that tore itself from our cracked lips, (like the wild trills of the faerie or very young children before they are truly human) and echoed in that tiny stone room as though it was a grand chasm in the mountains.

Then, after no time, some time, all the time, they came back for him. He did not turn or stand when they entered, so they wrenched his arms up behind him and the rest of his body followed evoking a moan I had named scuffed-knee-pain. The king stalked in after the guards, and gave me a long stare over the shoulder of my beloved. Then he drew a sharp glittering knife across my beloved’s throat. The blood that spurted forth was not the crusty brown like on his hands, nor the sluggish dark of his other wounds. It was the depthless red of the ruby on the pommel of the knife that killed him, bright and full of life as it spattered across my face. The guards let him fall and the blood pooled around him and around me where I still knelt. It coated my naked body, wormed its way under my finger nails and between my toes, soaked into the hair between my legs. I was silent. It was like all of the breath had been sucked from my lungs, or my guts turned outside of me rather than in. I knew the knife would come. I waited for it in eager silence, staring into that hazel eye, but it did not come. Hands wrenched me to my feet and began to lead me away. My king grabbed my chin, forcing my face up, forcing my eyes to his cold blue ones. He leaned in, I thought he would kiss me, and if he had I would have bit off his tongue and been dead on the floor alongside my love. Instead he whispered, almost gently, "I do not tolerate infidelity".

The lovers followed the border for several days, until they were far from the witch's cabin. They had prepared a letter, and each had a copy in their pockets. It simply read "We go now to the gods by full choice of our own in the hopes that in their halls we may love in peace". They sat across from each other, each in their own kingdom and each with their own little bottle in hand. They did not want their deaths to be an excuse for war you see. And so, their hands clutched across the border, the downed the poison without a word. The witch was good at her craft, and barely had the tonic passed their lips when their breathing cut short, and their hearts stopped. They were found there not hours later by some traveler passing through, and before the day was up their parents were at their sides. They wept, and the queens tore at their hair and the kings beat their chests in mourning. Both had been only children, and now two kingdoms were left without their beloved heirs. It was the queens who conceded first, standing over the bodies of their children they held each other and cursed their own stubbornness. The kings came to the same conclusion after some posturing, but before long they were all mourning together.

Maids cleaned me, dressed me, and force fed me until my breasts and buttocks filled back in ("we don't want you looking like some half-starved wife on your wedding day now do we"). But that little stone cell had stolen things from me. The rose of my cheeks, the depth in my eyes ("you always look so sad m’lady, try a little smile") my voice ("the wedding vows won't say themselves!"). I was a ghost. The king married me a month after he murdered my musician. As a wedding gift he gave me a knife, a knife with a bright red ruby on the pommel and blood still crusted where the blade met the hilt. He had his way with me that night, and every night for a moon phase or more. I would call it rape, but I was so numb that I simply did not care. I would just lay there, dumb and numb and unresponding until he was done and would take away his stale ale breath and sweaty slicked body. The one thing that would flicker through my head was that at least he would believe the child his when my belly started to bulge.

One day, when I was seven months pregnant (but truly eight) I watched my husband drunkenly leave the great hall with one of the more lovely young ladies of the court. He had grown bored of me, especially as the child grew and sought his pleasure elsewhere. Everywhere else. But this night was different. I knew that when the baby came healthy a month early he would know that it was the musician's child, not his. I feared he would have my baby killed. I didn't fear for my own life as in truth it had ceased that day in the dungeon, but I could not bear the idea of losing this child. I went to my chambers and collected my wedding gift. The guard outside his rooms let their wraith queen pass without question. He was on top of her, rutting and grunting, she moaning in presumed pleasure. They did not hear me enter, they did not hear my footsteps (what ghost makes noise?) as I approached, nor the metal sing as I drew the knife from its silver sheath.

I grabbed him by the hair suddenly, wrenching him back off of the woman, and pressed the knife to his throat, drawing a thin red line. "I do not tolerate infidelity" I whispered, my voice gravely and strange, and then drew the knife swift and strong and without hesitation. In truth I cut deeper than I meant to, and when the king's body flopped off the bed his head was half severed and lolled on the stones. The woman he had been with was screaming and spattered with blood. For an instant I felt pity for her, and then the guards were dragging me away, trying to quiet her, and at a complete loss at what to do with their king, dead and naked on the floor.

The two kingdoms that could not be united by marriage were now united by death. A peace treaty was signed, and a beautiful pavilion was built on the place the lovers had died and a garden planted around it. Some say the witch enchanted the garden, for even in the depths of wither it was full of blooms. Now it is a place where young lovers go to ask the blessing of the gods, and kings meet to sign treaties, but only pacts of peace, never of war, and always the sacrifice of the lovers is remembered and honored.

I gave birth to a little boy yesterday afternoon. A beautiful baby boy with a strong set of lungs, and hazel eyes. I got to hold him for an hour before they took him away and gave him to a wet nurse to suckle. They would not let me name him, but I called him by his father's name while I had him in my arms. Tonight I put pen and ink to paper, to preserve the truth. There are a few here with whom I can entrust this story. Perhaps someday my son will know it, perhaps he will believe it.

But do you see, the difference between the faerie tale, and life? In both the lovers struggle, they seek help, they fail and end up ever so dead. And it isn't the elves, or the witches brew, no, those are mere metaphors.

Tomorrow I will go to my death with a cheering crowd before me. They will rejoice in seeing the mad woman who killed their king swing, turn blue, and die. Then, when the excitement settles, they will continue their lives as ever before, and in the evening they will tell their children bedtime stories of elves and giants and lovers.

TW: murder, suicide (razor blades), mentions of blood

It's no wonder John Milton named the capital of Hell "Pandæmonium" — I can see that now. I had planned meticulously over the past week on how to rid myself of her, it's like the universe knew it was coming. After the birth of Giovanni, she had started losing it. About a month after his birth, she started crying every day and sleeping less. She started to be possessive of Giovanni, too. A month or so after that, it was clear she was depressed. She was also angry. She just couldn't connect with Giovanni in the way she wanted to. I guess she had this whole ideal scenario envisioned where she and the baby were inseparable. Her fault, I guess. It hurt to see this loving and affectionate person become distant. But, it wasn't only her feelings that were changing either. As this went on, I lost love for her. Soon, I became infuriated with her. She kept the baby from me because, "He loves me, he's just reluctant to show it. Trust me." I would stand in silence, getting angry. It'd been a while since I was able to spend time with my baby. She would notice my facial expression change and cry, "I'm serious, Philippe. He loves me!" Her insecurity was eating her up. One day, I went to comfort her while she was having an episode when I saw her wrist. Multiple scars were lined across. I mentioned it would be good to see a doctor, as it became increasingly obvious she had a severe form of postpartum depression. Turns out, that was the most wrong thing I could've said because her episode became worse.

I got fed up real fast. I was helpless. Then, it clicked. How did I not notice it before? The universe was giving me the answer all along. It would be hard, but I knew what I had to do. I already had a great excuse, but I didn't have a way to get her where I wanted her. I couldn't use aconite, it would show up in her toxicology results. I couldn't slip anything into her food either, for the same reasons. Somehow, I needed to paralyze her without poison. Then it came to me. A quick encounter. I had been gifted in the field of anatomy — to many people's surprise. I knew the quickest way would be the brachial artery, but it was too deep and would take a while to cut and do the job. Without a paralytic, it would be impossible to accomplish. But, a quick and powerful slash across her carotid artery would do the trick. It would be fast and efficient, completing the job in almost the same time. All I had to do was set the stage.

I told her I was preparing a dinner for us, to which she refused. I told her it was for our anniversary — when we first met. Everything was falling into place. But, it was easy. Too easy. It was suspicious, but I shook it off.

Soon, the day came. I made us spaghetti arrabbiata with an arugula salad on the side, her favourites. We ate in silence, except for when she complimented my food. After dinner, I asked if we could talk. She wasn't up to the idea, of course. I told her it would be quick and she reluctantly agreed. I told her how sorry I felt for her and how she didn't seem to be able to connect with Giovanni. "I don't need your pity," she said. "But he's my baby too," I said. I could see the tears start to well up in her eyes. "Don't cry," I pleaded, "I have a proposal. Take care of yourself. Go run a bath and relax. I think we still have some bath salts, which could be a nice touch. While you're in there, I can watch Giovanni. I know you don't like it, but it might just help you relax. You haven't done much of that since you became obsessed with the baby." She was fuming, but she saw the desperation in my eyes. "Okay."

I could hear the bathwater start to run. I went up to the nursery to set Giovanni in his crib. When I laid him down, I whispered, "I'm sorry, Gio. But, it's for the best. Your mom wants to keep you for herself and I can't have that. I just love you too much. Have you seen her? She's not okay enough to provide for you. I am. Don't worry, daddy has a plan. You wouldn't notice if she was gone. You don't care. Why would you? All mommy does is take you with her and lock herself in the room with you. You must hate it. Hate her. And it's okay. I do too. That's why I'm doing this — so she can leave us alone and let us spend time together. She will never take you away again." I put his blanket over him and walked towards the bathroom.

Call me diligent, ultracareful, psychotic even, but can you blame me for wanting to get away with it? Simply put, I needed her gone and somewhere to place the blame. And what better way to do it than to blame it on herself? Clearly, she was struggling with her mental health. I can say she was trying to better herself — or so it seemed. After being suspicious of her stay in the bathroom, I walked in to find her dead. Call the police, and go on from there. The thing is, I had to time it perfectly. Nothing can go wrong. She needs to be dead for a reasonable time, forty-five minutes at least. Anything over an hour would make it seem suspicious. If I needed to, she could be left out a little longer, but she can’t be left to the point of rigor mortis. Then, I’d be screwed. I also needed an alibi — which was going to be the hard part. I decided to be washing dishes. I would, and then watch television while Giovanni was sleeping. Soon, I’d walk back up and notice she wasn't out. I get worried, walk in and see her dead body. People knew she was struggling, so it would be a reasonable story. I never hurt her — though I wanted to sometimes. Nobody would be the wiser.

She was already in the bath when I walked in. "Philippe, didn't you say this was my relaxing time?" I did. Her eternal relaxation. I walked closer. "Philippe, get out." I made it to the edge of the tub. I went in for a final kiss. "Fine. One kiss then you're out." She tilted her head towards me and closed her eyes. Perfect, I thought. I took out a small razor blade I had picked up from the bathroom sink counter. I brought her head in closer, and with the blade, slit deeply and quickly across the side of her neck. "Philippe!" she cried out in agony. I stepped away, but she leaned over the edge of the tub, letting the blood onto the floor.

***

Fuck. This is complete chaos. My personal pandæmonium, if you will. Nothing was supposed to go wrong. I gently move her head into the tub and let her blood infuse the water. I quickly go and open the cabinet under the sink and take out the bleach. I pour it into a bucket we have in there and I eyeball around a quarter cup. I add about 60-ish ounces and dip a spare cloth in there. Somehow, she had managed to let out a lot more blood than expected when she was leaning against the edge. I clean to the best of my abilities. After cleaning, I plop her arm on the edge, to make it seem more realistic. And then I remember. "Shit!" The razor blade. How did I forget? I took plastic bags from the cabinet and wrapped them around my hands. I moved her right arm and placed the blade in her right hand. If they ask, I'll say I used it to shave earlier. I switch out the old blade from my razor and set it aside to throw it away elsewhere. I clean up and get out of there. I shove the razor blade into the bags that I placed on my hand and shoved those into our regular trash. Suddenly, I hear my name. "Philippe!" It's her, but how is that possible? I killed her. "Philippe!" I close my eyes. I must be going insane, I think. "Philippe?"

I opened my eyes, afraid of what I would see.

***

It's her. What in the world? "Philippe, are you okay? You're the one who suggested this dinner." I must have been imagining the whole thing. I quickly snapped into reality, and responded, "You're right. I'm sorry. I lost my train of thought." She got up. "I said, I am going to take your advice." "What advice?" I questioned. "To take a bath and relax. Hopefully, it helps with Giovanni." I was confused. Did she seem open to the idea? No, it couldn't be. This is just a ruse to get closer and then suddenly take Gio away from me. I can't fall for her tricks.

She walked upstairs and I could hear the bathwater start to run. I go place Giovanni in his crib, and tell him everything will be okay. "Daddy's here." I place his blanket over him and walk into the bathroom. She's already in the bath when I walk in. I make a stop at the sink, and pick up a razor blade. She doesn't notice it. "Philippe, didn't you say this was my relaxing time?" I did. "You're right." She gives me a look. "So," she says, "Why are you still here?" "I'm sorry, Eleanor." I walk closer to her. "So very sorry." I lean in for a kiss, and I bring her head in...

The raindrops, they were not moving in a way as normal. Instead, the rain poured, but it was flowing heavenward.

What kind of place is this? Samantha thought to herself. She stood drenched from head to toe, waiting in the dead of the night for them to finish the ritual.

Her uncle stepped out from the shadows and handed her a shovel. She stared into his glasslike eyes, looking into them all she mostly saw was her own reflection staring back at her.

They heard the sound of horses neighing not too far from their current spot. Her uncle frowned at her.

"Come on, any hour now, child. Hurry up- we don't have all night. The guardians will soon be here and end up locking us away. Get to work!"

The expression on her uncle's face spoke much louder than his warning. Samantha clicked her tongue and grabbed the shovel from her uncle's old and wrinkly hand.

As soon as she had managed to dig a six foot hole, her uncle raised his hand and pulled the shovel out of her hands. She gasped and before she could do anything else, she saw the shovel being swung right on the top of her forehead.

She fell backward into the hole and her uncle quickly shoved the dirt onto her body. Once he was done, he clasped his hands and fell on his knees. He tossed the shovel to the side, pulled a knife out of his coat and sliced it across his left hand. He squeezed it and let the blood flow over the grave of his niece.

He raised his head and stared at the full moon.

With a toothy grin, he cackled and uttered, "O, starlight, star bright. Listen to my plight. The folks here need something to face that will give them such a fright. A creature full of might. One that is not born from the light, but from the shadows. Listen to an old man's plea. Let my wish come true. Here lies a body for your use, for this night."

After a little while, the old man vanished into the shadows and waited.

A couple hours later, a group of guardians had come across the grave. They decided to leave their horses by the river's edge and walked on foot from there to search for anything that was ready to bring forth something malevolent.

One of the guardians bent down and tilted his head to the side. He placed his hand on the ground and closed his eyes. His mind had sensed the presence of a being buried in the ground.

The guardian alerted the rest of the crew and another had found a shovel lying on the ground. Picking it up, and a flash of images flipped through his mind. The guardians all had seen what the one who had picked up the shovel had seen.

They formed a circle around the grave and proceeded to chant. Their chanting rose in the air and a barrier formed around the grave.

The guardians felt a change in the air. A thick fog formed around the grave and they could hardly see a thing.

The ground started to quake. They heard a growling sound coming from the grave. One of the guardians yelled out loud. Something had emerged from the grave and managed to drag his body into it.

The guardians tried to save their comrade, but they just heard the crunching of bones and flesh being torn from the rest of the guardian's body.

They started to run and head back to where they left their horses. Another guardian had slipped landing face down, he looked around and could not see any of the other guardians. The only thing he felt was the hot breath of something breathing near his neck.

He reached for his sword and tried to swing it at the creature. That tactic failed.

The thing bit into his neck and tossed his head to the side.

From the shadows, the uncle watched in delight. His work here was done. Underneath his breath, he whispered and chanted, "Guardians of the night. Any barrier you place, shall not save you in your space. Even your shadows will gather, and take their own form. They will form any army, ready to fight ya."

At that moment, the rest of the guardians that could see their horses all fell onto their knees. Their eyes trembled in fear at the sight of their own shadows with swords in their hands.

It was off with all their heads, in one powerful swing of swords from the guardians shadows.

The uncle stepped out from the shadows and squatted near the grave. He peeked in and squinted his eyes. His niece stared at him and growled.

He waved his index finger and said, "That's my girl. Don't worry, there's plenty more bodies for you to feed on. C'mon. The night is still young. Let's take a stroll into Sleepy Hollow."

#DEAD/ALIVE? (c) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFNK-9A2VRo

#HappyHalloween!!!

10.31.2021

Tonight's the night to wear my fangs.

To knock at the doors with all my gangs.

To gather on candy and sweets and things.

To see what mischief the night will bring.

As we walk to doors in gangs of ten,

I see witches, and ghosts, and little minion men.

I see characters and gremlins and big boogie bears.

I see police and firemen and kids with big hair.

I see transformers, and angels, and devils, and such.

This is Halloween night, and I love it so much.

As the night fades away and it's time to retire.

Our candy is looked over, some thrown in the fire.

But not a bad hall for a night of good cheer.

I can't wait for Halloween to return next year.

And so it begins,

Insipid openness and dreary dreams,

Forever bound by the worries than keep you awake.

A thorny hollow, ever-flowing swell,

A glassless prison with no door to shake.

And so it begins,

Limitless boundaries and unfulfilled thoughts,

Motionless in time, eternally faded and weak.

Encircling demons, rotting memories,

A breathless soul from which you cannot speak.

And so it begins,

Endless, blank loops and barren reflections,

Pervading black sorrows left to languish in the wind.

Vacant darkness, desolate, empty homes,

A presence of absence, senseless and skinned.

And so it begins,

Insufferable nothingness laid bare,

Oppressive stupor with no ability to cry.

Wandering ether, infinite demise,

Drifting death and yet unable to die.

And so it begins.

Way back when

Halloween Apples

was the cry as short legs

bounced up concrete steps

The slender sickle silver slice

hangs above the horizon

the moon is waning

from a day gone by

his face hidden from

all below

Ghosts and Goblins run from

house to house

on the inner crescents of

suburb paradise

Parents stand

in doorways watching

their precious little ones

safe, secure.

The littlest go first,

unspoken rules

toddling in costumes

thicker than the cold

The later in the night

the older the kids till

last shouts

of trick or treat

echo under streetlights

bright

And when the loot was sorted

candied apples were there

crisp, juicy sweet, hard sugar shell.

Sugar cookies, candy, toffee,

chocolate galore

and of course

Homemade popcorn balls

caramel crunchy fluff

tooth yanking orbs of

irresistible temptation

Till the day the first

razor blade found

in a bloody bite

Made Halloween Apples

A past delight.

This is the dentist

That replaced the teeth of Henry

Who had been hit by a bull

That had been frightened by the boy

Who had a twisted neck

That moved 360 degrees

This is the surgeon

That gave Philip a new heart

That was from a little boy

Who had been hit by a car

That was being driven by Henry

Who was rushing to see the dentist

This is the boy's mother

Who had seen the person driving

That had killed her little boy

Who had dreams of becoming a pilot

That the world would all know about

This is the necromancer

Who felt pity of the mother

That witnessed the death of her son

That soon came back to life

Thanks to the powers of the necromancer.

#NECROMANTE (c) 14.11.2021 Sundae.

Lichen falls down from the spruce

tree branches, light green and billowing,

some call it Old Man’s Beard but

on this tree it drapes gracefully

like long hair.

Leaves of topaz sit atop the boughs

intertwined like flowers in her hair,

a crown of gold and amber

she’s ready for the full moon celebration.

my dearest love, i will perform for you

everything about you is pure magic

pure music

i am in love with the way your legs move

and i am in love with your teeth

your heart is beautiful and, my god, your smile makes me weak

i am in love with you and everything you are

if you had my baby, i would worship the altar that is your hips

i will sew you back together and i will kiss your wounds

i am in love with you

i have said it many times but i will say it again

i am in love with you

you fell in love with me when i first picked up my violin

you came apart in front of me when i drew that bow across the strings

the music was made by me but it was made for you

so now, your body laid across my bed, i will create music for you

i said i love your legs, and your heart

so i will cut the tendons and muscles out of each and create a violin

your teeth will hold the string in place

and your hip bones will be my bow

that way when our child asks where mommy is

i will say, right here!

and play your favorite song, so you too can make the music