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HOW TO BE A MONSTER

PERSEPHONE | I MAY BE BEAUTIFUL, BUT DON'T EVER FORGET HOW I GOT BLOODSTAINS IN MY SMILE.

the first time you see her,
she's playing with you
on the playground;
six years old and
the flowers already sprout
at her feet.
      a boy shoves her down,
      (shush child,
      it's just play)
      but she knows better.

      you see her again at age seventeen,
      and she could be
      the innocent girl,
      pastel makeup on
      tear stained cheeks
      (it scares you,
      because she is)
      but you watch the way she
      smirks, like the devil
      is hidden in her lips.
      the boys that pushed her down
      disappear beneath bedsheets
      and never come back
      the same.

      twenty three and she's gone,
      you watched her disappear
      under a toxic love.
      death was always peaceful,
      but a simple walk through
      a graveyard will show you
      true terror.
      she takes and she takes,
      fire and blood mingling
      on baby blue fingertips
      and you think that
      the day of reckoning
      will be the day she comes to
      take back this soulless earth.
      she whispers shadows
      through the skeletons
      in your closet,
      rips the backbones from
      the men who dare
      enter her kingdom
      a sinner.

she is beautiful,
but never gentle.
twisted fingers play
with puppet strings
as she tugs flowers and little girls
up from the earth,
and just as quickly
as she births them,
they wilt under her never ending
rage.
(she was born into death,
haven't you seen
the bloody fruit?)

and when autumn rises
she snatches life from the land,
and god bless
(what gods,
in this sinful world)
the men who die
in winter,
who march stoically through
hell hounds and
rivers of blood and
lost memories,
only to cower at her feet.
the sweetness of her breath
is deceiving;
a pomegranate kiss
could kill them all again.
oh, hell is not a kingdom,
for the crown of bones
upon her head
marks it hers,
stained bloody marble columns
that reflect the
suffering of a thousand souls,
stained bloody marble hands
that shall cast you
into tartarus,
oh sinner,
oh holy man.

(protect the children
of the summer.)

she's always looking
for a pretty skull
to hold dear mummy's
flowers in.