i. She is more than mortal and less than goddess, yet she has longings and desires and cravings for immortality. They have long since been buried under her bones of gold-gilded ivory, resurfacing only when someone attempts to strike her down. These imbeciles are naught but pawns, and the queen rids herself of them, not once without licking her fingers clean of blood.
ii. The crown has not left her head since she first wrested it from the man who violated and desecrated her, kneading her flesh with his hands until bruises blossomed and gave the cosmic freckles on her skin a black-and-blue galaxy to inhabit. This man she slaughtered with his own sword, carving into his bleeding body the sordid, prurient words he had once spat at her. He died begging for mercy that she did not give. No one has dared touch her since.
iii. When she reigns, it is with a tongue sharp enough to slice stones and an iron fist that can knock over skyscrapers. She has sworn to the stained glass ceiling of the chapel, to the unseen divine, that she will never cower. She is not ruled by any human, any being, for she is a queen—she is her own twisted lord.
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Elucidation
PoesiaI was meant to disintegrate to stardust; but instead, I was reduced to rubble of old buildings and broken skies. © Copyright 2017 by Lily White. All rights reserved.
