Blood
In the ashes
Smeared
On white roses
"Paint them red,"
She said
"Or it's off with your head"
The Queen of Roses
Lying her her rose bed
Dripping blood
From a severed head
Slowly painting
The roses red

as her ladies paint
her blue blood on her lips
Cleopatra speaks:
“queens die like this:
with the theatrics
of the crowning ceremony
and the proud negligence
of the morning toilette:
the gods-awful magnificence
of a wrist-flick:
draw me my milk bath,
bring me my venom pills.”

In those hard times
I did love thee not.
But now I doth
At which hour I see thee rot.

Oh, Guildford, I realize
The thought yond we were meant to beest
Didst not crosseth mine own mind.

Nine days queen
Didst weaken our bond
I had not the timeth
To knoweth we hath grown fond

❝ ❞

     A Queen who found her King.
     A King who loved his Queen.
     A Princess who admired her Prince.
     Yet, I'm the Prince who fell in love
     with my servant.

    A servant who truly loves me.
    A servant who accepts what I am.
    A servant who treats me like a rose.
    A servant that I loved the most.

    But this different fairytale
    Didn't stay that long.
    A story that has never been free from all.
    A story with an unhappy ending.

You held me in your arms and whispered,
“Baby, I’ll make you my queen,”
But darling, don’t you get it-
I don’t need your love
To make me something I already am.

seven years passed like the phases of the moon,
since her parents had their last fight,
their marriage stained maroon.
ever since, she stayed with Daddy,
always on the run.
she learned to live a life of crime,
and to never trust anyone.
now she’s all but sixteen,
but her hands are stained in blood.
she shot the sheriff where he stood,
his crimson tears a flood.