A/N: So this is the first poem that I have written in years. It's not anything that is of wonderful literary quality. Just some obscure and pretty prose. Tell me if you like it! I basically just threw up some abstract lyrical vomit on my keyboard. Enjoy that wonderful mental image! :D
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Your Eyes Can Be So Cruel:
Dextrose.
She felt forever. Unbidden.
Flowers danced about her head.
She swam through seas of faerie dust.
Shadows absorbed her. She was forever. Infinite.
She shared her bed with a monster. The lover of her soul.
He ate her etiquette. Made love to her heart.
Mortal was dead. Fey coursed through her veins.
Was she a monster too?
Was she forever? Was he?
She could feel the glitter. Taste the leather.
She was suspended above a precipice.
He would always catch her.
Her eyes were clouded in ruffles.
Her head brimmed with birds. They sang lovely songs.
She could never die.
Butterflies died inside her stomach.
Pterodactyls bloomed in her abdomen.
He would stalk towards her. Make her shy.
She was murder in black boots.
Her eyes. They could be so cruel.
They danced with salvation.
Danced with conviction.
They made love in baths of liquid silver.
Held each other. Wrapped in golden chains.
He tied her with lace. Satin.
She whipped him with feathers.
They were infinite. They loved.
Her satisfaction bloomed from his affection.
There would never be another.
He made a bed of vines for her.
Let the flowers sing her to sleep.
He was inebriated by her presence.
Her smile was a drug.
Her warmth the addiction.
She would scream for him.
Cry for him.
Everything. He was everything.
They loved in a psychotic way.
They loved that they loved.
He was forever.
Master of her world.
Hers.
His fingers danced across her skin. Tease.
They ate roses by the river.
He was the petal. She was the thorn.
Pricked. Bleeding. Marked.
His. Always his.
He demanded her. Controlled her.
She sucked his ego. Submissive.
He sang pretty songs in her head.
Taunted her with rhymes.
Drove her with fantasy.
Sometimes, he would skin her alive.
Wear her pale skin as a coat,
Just to feel her warmth.
She would tie him to the bedposts,
Snip locks of his hair,
Make bracelets of the glittering tresses
And revel in the way his jaw clenched
When she would graze skin with metal.
Like Juliet, she cut him up into little pieces
Scattered him among the stars.
Never had the face of heaven looked so fine.
Like Narcissus, he stared into his own reflection,
Content with everything he was
Until he realized her eyes were the mirror.
Captivated.
He was hooked.
He was gash-gold vermillion.
She was pied beauty.
Aristocratic and sane. Desperate.
She smothered him in tulle and silk.
He was her omnipotence, the shaking in her fingertips
When she told him she didn't believe in magic.
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A/N: There you have it ladies and gents. My obscure little poem. I probably won't write another, but I felt like someone might like this. Oh, and twenty points if you got my reverences! They're italicized. The first, obviously, is a Shakespeare reference. The second is in reference to a Greek myth. Narcissus was a man in love with his own reflection. The last two are from the poems Pied Beauty and The Windhover both by Gerard Manley Hopkins. He was a Victorian writer who wrote a lot of poetry about God, which seemed to fit good with the fact that that is kind of how Sarah sees Jareth. Anyways, little literary notes aside, I really hope you liked it! Please review, thank you for reading!
