You know the type
She stares with eyes glittering malice
She cares little for your body, bumping and jarring it as she passes
She believes her path should be made clear, trotting the lane in expectation
She seethes at the beauty of your crown, your polished mahogany, your gentle curves—
All features she’s enamored with are noticed with the same keenest of eye by her man
Jealousy
Her pain wielded as a tool to turn him against you— if he already wasn’t
Jealousy ensuing her to seek her self-uplifted man
Surely he will enact regulations to cast such a treasure before his lady’s feet
Trampling in hate and rage
Lightly lifting a pampered foot to sink the heel deep into the soft flesh of neck
True his pedestal may be fashioned from gleaming wood, setting him high on the judgement seat above all else,
But hers was crafted from the schemes of her mind—
Yielding, chocolate bodies cushion her seat, keeping her in lofty heights of protection
His angel
His madonna
His helpless goddess that he cannot contaminate with his heathenistic desires
Dark,
Fetid— the smell of them alarming in its continued evolution of ghastly gruesomeness
It makes her cruel as he
Slim yet curvaceous by design, She glares at the figures she longs for
Sucking in and setting her teeth as whalebone steals her breath
Someone will pay for her pain
Why should she have to endure such
The world is hers
All are to cater and attend her needs
She’s a delicate flower, fragile as the blue and white china cup she sips from in superiority
She only looks up fro it to scold
To criticize, to chastise a being she sees less than—
Unwittingly she illustrates a truth she’d rather keep hidden,
She wants more of them and less of herself
This is the way of things
It’s how it should be
She isn’t to have a care in the world
Eyes of a hawk, she peers below at a stain blemishing her pedestal
Sharply she calls to have it cleansed immediately
How can one reign over beasts with he blood of their bodies soiling her cushions and very presence
These creatures were made to serve, alleviating her of any cult or feelings of wrongdoing on her part
Why should one feel anything but delight when the world is one’s oyster
Delicious things; tinged with the salt of the waters they come from
Bathed in tears from those underfoot, she delights in the salty taste, having developed a taste for them as well
An aphrodisiac, a precursor to an already abundant spread that’s life
She’s dined like royalty for centuries
She’s squeezed the breath from her lungs, painted beauty into her face and emptied her mind of everything—all for him
She lives for his pleasure and therefore finds pleasure in sharing his cruelty easily
Stripped bare
Back flayed open
Thrown in a hole or a box
Strung up to twist in the wind like the last leaf clinging to a tree in Autumn
Her teeth are brilliant diamonds, glittering at your pain
Her eyes, sparkle at your demise
She is in ecstasy,
Though not of the same kind as her master
For he is hers as well as the others
He rules over her as he rules over the land with an entitled hand
All is his
He’s made it so
He freely takes as a monarch is want,
Fertilizing the land with the only tool he’s willing to put to work—an instrument he’s only to happy to wield.
Pillaging intimate spaces unwelcome to him, he aims to spread his seed over vast territory
He aims to control more land
More bodies
More wealth
He slacks his lust with a weapon more ripping than the whip
More destructive
He finds pleasure in the destruction of his property, for it produces a far better yield than toiling in creation
More bodies, more pleasure, more wealth,
A cycle he’s fond of and one of the only things he’s willing too create
Rutting is his right,
whatever is borne of such force is mere inventory—a free addition for what was paid for at the auction block
She sees, she knows, the world is hers
But her man is rooting around the fields, sneaking between doorways in the house
His work product filling both indoors and out
She takes her revenge with a smile for him and a smile for her prey
The blade
The whip
The ability to steal choice away
These instruments of wickedness have become her feast
And she is royalty
She will dine as much as she pleases
11.3.19 10:55AM
