Confessions of a Poisoner

I
Sweet spirit, have you come to haunt me as I tell stories of deposed kings?
Come, let us sit upon the ground so I can tell you how I have no interests in the trapping of guns or daggers
No, there's nothing fascinating about deaths wrought from metal.
You see, every knight sees it coming, the sword ****** through him or the arrow between his eyes.
It’s never such a surprise.
And it’s far more satisfying to see the king, my uncle, swallow wine, forced down his throat by me, of course, fall choking and writhing and paying for his crimes.
Oh, you look frightened.
Why, sweet spirit, is that so?
I’ll pretend I don’t know,
There is a certain social stigma surrounding poison, you see.
The coward’s weapon
Only used by servants, jealous wives, pitiful begrieved lovers, to name a few
How embarrassing must it be for the powerful and mighty king to be laid low by his housekeeper.
Yet, it is the only weapon that we, the servants, wives, and lovers have to protect ourselves.

II
Imagine this:
You’re twelve years old and your master is calling out to you
“Come along, little one,” and he puts a grimy hand on your shoulder and wraps the other one around your tender wrist.
You were supposed  to-what?
Run, hide, and cry for mommy?
No, not I
And twelve years later hemlock but falls into my hands
Twenty four years of age and revenge well wrought
My ironclad wrists were caught
By prison keepers, no
By justice that flowed with my blood
Why should I live in fear?
My silver tipped tongue was clever enough to save me from even a hangman's noose

III
I know-knew- a man who flogged his sons
Such a sight they were
Dripping in their crimson blood
One night I served his wine
mixed with nightshade, of course
Never mind the other guests
I'm sure they beat their daughters too
The best thing was: they never knew
Justice burned and brightly bloomed

IV
There was a boy who did adore me in my form
But, oh look here, he was such a bore
On and on and on he droned
Fog and mist must fill his bones
Wolfsbane was the only cure
and to see him writhing on the floor
it was the most marvelous of sport
to see his eyes roll and blood mixed with foam at his mouth
I wasn’t bored of him anymore

V
The King, my uncle
What a monster he is
He let my mother and brother be tried in his court
He thought they were guilty
Maybe they were- I don’t know
But bonds of blood he did burn so
Belladonna in Elderberry wine
There was never such a pretty sight
His lips stained purple with such a sweet drought
I was there with and his cries set music in my veins
I stood there with eyes transfixed
Such a symphony I had wrought from his feeble throat
I wish the world could hear my song
And throw roses at my feet as it sung all night long.

VI
Why do you look pale
And tremble at my voice?
I think you hardly have heard such a thing as grand as mine
You don't speak
How so?
You must admit
I am a liberator and an avenger
And wound for red wound I will right these wrongs
But perhaps you are tired
And are wanting of rest
Such things I always think
So tell me, sweet spirit, would you care for a drink?

I carry a backpack full of note books and my violin everyday to school
I carry a softball glove and a bat and the fear that I’ll have to use them again
I carry a flannel and apple scented lotion because it reminds me of her grace
and how I’ll never get to see her
I carry a cameo about my neck and they story I’ll never know behind it.
I carry sheet music and my drama script because I’ve yet to see those change.
I carry a friend who loves me and a friend who hates me and sometimes I don’t know which one I’m talking to
I carry two silver cups which are the only honour to my name
I carry the name of a boy who loved me, but I didn’t love him back
I carry old Latin books and the love I threw away
I carry music that I want to learn but will never have the time to
I carry audition results that made me lock myself in my room
I carry the lies upon lies that I told so I wouldn’t be disappointment
I carry my grades and the B that cast me from my parent’s grace
I carry a vase that I dropped and didn’t mind when the glass cut my feet
I carry scars from softball and how I was used as a punching bag and a pawn because I wouldn’t cry
I carry the love of a friend that I only knew for a week and the friendship that I wish I could still show her.I hope she sees this and I hope she knows that I could never hate her and was just too much of a coward to answer that message.
I carry the thought that she hates me now
I carry tears cried in my closet after I couldn’t figure out how to format a chemistry paper and wishing I would just die
I carry the humiliation I felt when all my friends got A’s on that paper and I barely managed a C
I carry the knowledge that one of my favorite teachers thinks I lied on a vocab quiz to gain half a point.
I carry the Wuthering Heights paper and how I worked so ******* hard to be .6 points away from an A.
I carry Linton’s fear and the knowledge that I was .6 points away from getting people to believe that our pain mattered.
I carry the fear that my best friend, the girl I love, is going to **** herself
and I’ll be left with old texts, a letter, and scars that will never heal

I don’t believe we are evil
No matter what anyone could say
What crime have we committed,
But loving through the day.

What have we done, but sat and read
Thoughts lost in one another
Like cats you left us for the dead
Your words did **** my brother

You made us exiles of our own hearts
And expect we kneel and pray
What ever did we do
But loving through the day

There is a tree I see before me with branches made of bone
Twisting roots lay at my feet cracked as ancient steel
There is sickly wonder held within the shadowed, greying tone
I feel as though I would make an excellent final meal

High above the clouds our ship does sail
Almost touching bright stars and silky moon
Our captain wears planets about his neck
And in the air there’s sort of a light and twisting tune
Of nebulas dying and stars being born
And mountains and craters, hewn
But there never was such a tale ever told
That struck my heart in two

We need to leave this place
To run from war scorched turf
To sow our salt laden fields
but what effective shackles are words
Our orders bind us, poor foot soldiers
To run is winter and frozen steal
And icy chains wrapped round my neck
to stay is warm blood,
cut from us by children even younger than we are
And burnt skin and blazing dust
I know which path I wish to take
But you did ever hate the cold

Cut his throat and end his charm
Why should we live in fear?
The next day will dawn
And to the gallows we’ll be drawn
And then who could do us harm?