Sacrifice I must

This cannot be real.
this cannot be true 
allow me to awaken
from this nightmare.
Pull in close
lock the door
bar the windows
love lives here no more.
Not even willing
not even a chance
that I am willing
to allow myself to live
to allow myself to love
pain
too much to take
burned one too many times.
She blew in during the night
sashaying
hips swaying
lust first filled my veins
I opened the door to let her in.
Talk
talk
talk
I could listen to her forever
her hopes
her dreams
her needs
her desires
suddenly…..
There was…..
there is no turning back.
She has wormed her way under my skin
becoming an oasis
a warm shelter
that I crave
even as I push her away.
This cannot be real.
This cannot be true.
Even as I watch her walk away
I feel her pain.
She walks on
with nary a glance back
so I see not her tears.
She shall never know
my heart rended
I know this is what I must do.
For her.
 
©Nov. 26/19
Picture via Pinterest

Winter’s Veracity

Fall surrenders
bowing before the King of Winter
death all around
covered in greying snow
crossroads deep with grief
at all the bodies laying there.
Creep along
tinkle of icicles as they break
hit the glass
out he walks
you had better run
before he finds ye.
Words spoken in mistake
call forth an evil
deep from Winter’s fold
he comes
he dances
he is waiting for his true love.
Skin porcelain white
lips
carmine
move through the street
sacrifice
given to end the siege.
Move
each step crackles beneath
breath fogs the air
single tear falls from deadened eyes.
Head bowed
on your knees
hoping he will come close
look into your eyes
see the hate
the determination
to be the end of all girls fate.
Mocking laughter
piercing
grating
look up at the man afore
terror
all dressed in white
bleeding into the snow.
‘Come sweet child
allow me to explore
mayhap you shall be the one
to sate all my desires.’
Lips crease in practiced grimace
standing hands behind your back
waiting
he believes tied you are
never knowing
never dreaming
this was to be the end.
Hands reach out
skeletal
blue frozen fingers
entwined in your hair
pulling back
bending your neck to see.
Your disgust
barely hidden
allows him to draw close.
Putrid breath
ripe with death
within his maw
he shall try to dispense
his hellish ideals of pleasure.
Bending close
smelling rose
eyes closed
leaning down for a kiss
never seeing the burning in your eyes
only feeling
dark searing pain
as you stab in his side.
Covered in blood
in visceral goo
throw your head back
howling with rage
a frisson of dismay
as you realize the truth.
Tis not death that kills the Winter.
Tis not the kiss of a maiden.
Tis the death of knowledge.
Tis not the man.
Tis not the woman.
Tis the curse…..
that afflicts us all.

©Oct. 6/19
Picture via Pinterst