Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mandii Morbid Jan 2019
I have lost many and gained nothing in my kingdom of ice and hate. Succession to the throne would merely seal my fate.
You can't love, you can't dare show weakness or they will descend upon you like flies to the dead.
There are those who once bowed in reverence that would gladly take your head.

I sit and play this game, a game of blood and war.
There are days I start to forget what it all has been for.
We serve them pawns of flesh and they sing songs of sorrow.
Mourning the dead can wait till tomorrow.

I count the days until I may see your face again.
I wonder yet, if you will forgive me, my greatest sin.
Will you hold me once more in your warm embrace?
Will you smile at me despite the pain you face?

If I could rip out this heart,
show you it beats only for you.
Would you tear it apart?
Or could we start anew?

Until I sit upon the throne, I can never truly atone.
You will never be free from winter's grip.
I cannot afford to slip.

To become what I despise,
I must play into their game of lies.
Become the King they want of me.
So I can drown them in their treachery.

When that day comes, my love, I can finally set you free.
This was actually loosely based on a character I developed for a story. I was writing in his perspective.
Hazel May 2017
*** ligger på marken
Hendes hud er helt bleg og hendes krop er kold.
*** har lagt der siden dét skete!
Marken er dækket af røde valmuer, kontrasten mellem hendes blege hud og de grønne græsstrå der giver fylde til marken, får det hele til at virke så uvirkeligt!
Brutalt, hendes øjne er stadig åbne, *** kigger til siden, for selvom *** er kold, er der stadig ting *** ikke vil se i øjnene.  
Blodet er stivnet, hendes blod er koaguleret, ligsom hendes liv.
Alt lever videre selvom *** er blevet plantet der ved en fejl, fuglene synger og insekterne spjætter, kun et spørgmål om tid før de bosætter sig på hendes korpus, og *** bliver en del af valmuemarken..
-Hazel
Next page