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Friday, March 31, 2006
the black joker's game (death was at her mercy)
he would take her as his queen.
as merciless as he is. as ice cold, and passionate as he is. but (right) now she was just numb. from men, from death, from this from that, from life, from rain, from thunder from lightning (pardon me, but it's raining) from skies, from food, from physical touch, from physical pain, from physical warmth, from wounds, from scars, from battles, from war. she knew a little magic or two.
but (neither) he did not expect her to find love. (she didn't know it yet) he wanted her cold and shattered. heart broken and fallen. strong and stubborn. he wanted her human. then he knew he had lost her forever. he should have gotten her from the start. waiting was senseless. change was constant. she had found love in a werewolf. death was envious death was jealous.
he should have gotten her from the start. manipulated her to his wants, needs, desire, lust. manipulated her to his perfection. his perfect world. he was hideous, mindless, murderous, vengeful, outrageous. hell was at his mercy, their fires/flames ten times incinerous, what? greedy hungry in his presence. she was his queen, his idol, perfected, whole and hollow.
now she was dirty. dirty like dirt. dirty like dirt! but he still wanted her. wanted her human, wanted her broken, wanted her shattered and whole. flawless and tainted. faulted and blamed. he smirked and he roared. he wanted her. he wanted her world. he cursed and he swore, he bit and he screamed. blood on oath, blood on flesh, he set out to find her. his perfected little angel, his perfect little jester, his pretentious little liar, his stubborn little thief, his ice cold queen of hearts, cruel ace of diamonds, smug nine of clubs and snicky six of spades.
6:19 PM