She looks at him,
decisive in stare.
Her fiery red hair,
hot as the blood in her chalice.
I watch her take a sip.
Lips tainted with crimson,
spurting words of malice.
The man is sent away...
To be slowly executed.
I'm the slave, her slave.
The Queen of crimson, as she's known.
Though she has many more,
I obey to her personally.
Taken as a child I know little,
she may as well be my mother.
Yet this queen remains strange
and as unpredictable and random
I always thought her different.
Her blue eyes used to be brighter.
When I first met her, kidnap wasn't her intent.
I thought I knew her when I was far freer.
Yet, she grew dark and distant.
Before she arrived, with soldiers, invoking fear.
Broke into my parents house, took me away.
Killed my parents herself anyway.
She wasn't the woman she used to be that day.
A slap from her tough hand
dismisses the memory strand.
Like some hair stroked away,
from a shining brow.
Hot pain, bursting,
through my face like before.
I hardly react to it,
like there's no pain any more.
She says she felt like hurting something.
I cry no more, not for her.
Emotion numbed and slurred.
Feelings of resilience deterred.
I am hers, not my own person.
I do what she wants of me and
she does what she wants with me.
There's no free will no more.
Emotions no longer able to thaw;
they're forever harsh and coarse as her skin.
Oh and I've felt her skin.
It never feels right, when I touch her.
Having known her since childhood.
But she asks me to hold her,
please and punish her...
I have to let her do the same to me.
It's painful and makes me feel so *****.
Then that's before her love for blood.
A crimson heat she bathes in; freshly collected.
Human blood of course,
some even from myself.
But, I can't help but be driven,
driven to the brink of madness.
For in my life's confines
I'm beginning to find pleasure.
The way she has such control,
it gives me ultimate trust in her.
For, I know she'll never **** me.
I can't seem to deny it.
I'm beginning to like it.
The more she makes me hurt her.
The more she makes me take.
Just makes me shake
under the sheer anticipation.
What's she going to do next?
What will she ask me to do next?
It's all out of my control now...
Oh, my Queen of crimson.
I fear not the heat any more.
I want to be soaked through
with the blood of your enemies.
Just like you, your majesty.
Allow me the pain
that uncomfortable feeling;
the one you give daily
yet limit me from, my darling.
You turn more monster the faster the days.
Like the devil incarnate your power grows.
Your insanity is only beauty in my eyes.
Now feed me the crimson heat not in orderly rows;
but all at once in a medley of maddening gore.
Hurt me and make the pain oh so sharp and hot.
Take away the sheer numbness of the situation.
Bring me to the brink of life and death.
Assert your authority and give me the trust I need.
My beating heart on a silver platter for your feed.
A rough poem that's very dark and depicts the insane. Hmm, see what you think.