After the butterflies die, they leave behind bullet-holes -
Last words of my lover are rusting like lead in my soul.
Each new bride's dressed up white in the web that you've spun,
X marks the rock in the river where you've hidden the gun.
And now she's the fool with the gold, I was just the canary -
Now my ribs are a cave, and within there's a pit like a cherry.
Deep inside every diamond beats a heart black as coal,
Every stone that I swallowed is a star that you stole.
Rooftop sky like a sea, shark-blue eyes like the tide -
Everyone has a past where paradise and the pavement collide.
Habits die hard, so lead me like a lamb to the slaughter,
And hold my hand while you hold my head under the water.
Never before has a happy end tasted so bitter -
Never again will your last gift cast quite the same glitter.
Until my castles crumble and my dreams turn to dust,
My hand still crowns you king, with this ring may I rust.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
After the butterflies die, they leave behind bullet-holes -
Last words of my lover are rusting like lead in my soul.
Each new bride's dressed up white in the web that you've spun,
X marks the rock in the river where you've hidden the gun.
And now she's the fool with the gold, I was just the canary -
Now my ribs are a cave, and within there's a pit like a cherry.
Deep inside every diamond beats a heart black as coal,
Every stone that I swallowed is a star that you stole.
Rooftop sky like a sea, shark-blue eyes like the tide -
Everyone has a past where paradise and the pavement collide.
Habits die hard, so lead me like a lamb to the slaughter,
And hold my hand while you hold my head under the water.
Never before has a happy end tasted so bitter -
Never again will your last gift cast quite the same glitter.
Until my castles crumble and my dreams turn to dust,
My hand still crowns you king, with this ring may I rust.
This is my first "acrostic" poem.
I was inspired by Lewis Carroll's "A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky", a subversive little snippet of verse in which he begins every sentence with a letter of his muse's name: Alice Pleasance Liddel.
My own devil is much darker, and so is his resulting poem.
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