She is a ruler, proud in her glory
Sets hearts to flame, turns lovers to screams
Her nails alone are ripped from a story
Reduces soldiers to men without mean

Eyes marble-black, with sharp slits in the centre
Hair that waves as though in water
Glistening red as crowds begin to enter
They know her tales, but none have caught her

What she requires - they all deliver
Her voice is a choir - that makes all shiver
She doesn't walk
She struts

Bends over in a seductive style
Caresses villainy in her seat
Crooning, intentions hidden all the while
Inaudible but the tread of her feet

March, march, march on to the drums
The Dark Majesty never forgets
Absorbing herself in hymns and hums
Oblivious to drunken admissions of regret

Queen of tyranny will never rest
But for serenity - she fails the test
She's majestic
But joy eludes her

There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you

This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones

As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans

But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones

The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn

Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse

The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum