Skulduggery

"Oh Skull, you are so beautiful"

she murmured, with a sigh.

But the skull, bare, bleached and lifeless,

Could offer no reply.

On waking, she would talk to it.

tell it about herself,

But the skull, a mere framework of bones,

Just sat there on the shelf.

In mornings, she would sing to it,

Songs joyous and bleak,

But the skull, as deaf as it was dead,

could offer no critique.

At lunchtimes, she would cook for it;

fine repasts, and such.

But the skull, bereft of appetite,

would leave the meal untouched.

In afternoons, she would dance for it.

She'd pirouette and spin,

But the skull could only lay there, smiling

With a forced white rictus grin.

In evenings, she would lay with it,

Caress the skin-stripped bone.

She'd hug it for mere company,

to help feel less alone.

"Oh Skull, you are so beautiful"

she'd whisper as night fell,

but no response would ever come

from that vacant bony shell.

Her hair, from red to grey it went,

Her songs came out less eager,

The dancing slowed to a slow waltz,

Food portions grew more meagre.

Until one day, she rose from bed,

But paused before the shelf.

"You are a skull, and nothing else."

she said, pleased with herself.

"You give me nothing but disdain.

I'll dance for you no more."

She spat and cursed and grabbed the skull

and placed it in a drawer.

The outside world can be quite harsh,

To the weak and the naïve

And a cruel man can exploit such souls

through the expert lies they weave.

The name he gave her was the only truth

he gave about himself.

He'd wend his way into her good books

and drain her of her wealth.

As time went on, this roguish knave

begin to win her heart.

"My love, I want for nothing more

than for us to never part."

She took the man into her home,

devoid of apprehension.

They'd chat and dance. She'd cook for him,

Convinced of his good intention.

He'd wander round the house at night,

This knave – scum of the earth -

Counting all her worldly goods

and totting up her worth.

One morning, as she lay asleep,

a drawer was disturbed.

The gleaming white skull was revealed,

The knave shrieked, quite perturbed.

She awoke, and ran to see what thing

had irked her lover so.

His eyes ablaze, he screamed at her

"This cursed thing must go!"

"No!" she cried, "The thing must stay!

To me it means the world."

"It wasn't a request," he snarled,

"You'll do as told, my girl."

Seeing his mask gone, for the first time,

She felt a pang of doubt.

"Of course, my dear. Just as you asked.

Before the day is out."

He raised his fist as though to strike,

to her horror and surprise.

But left her there, holding the skull

and staring in its eyes.

"I've cooked your favourite meal," she said.

He grabbed it, simply glaring.

Little did he know that it was laced

with a box-worth of Warfarin.

"Oh Skulls, you are so beautiful"

she murmured, with a sigh.

But the skulls, bare, bleached and lifeless,

Could offer no reply.