Sparkatale

I’m on the brink of a fever,

The edge of a slide,

I’m tearing apart

on the inside,

I walk bare footed

and soft,

Blade in my hand,

As I traverse

these dark corridors.

 

I never thought

I would be the dark

that slinks through

the night,

The evil

that steals life

on a knife’s edge,

A murderer,

Assassin.

 

But fate

has twisted me

to this design,

In this web

of secrets

And poisonous lies,

This court holds

only royal monsters,

And the innocent waifs

they’re birthed in.

 

Blood runs thick over the sheets,

Spilling from severed skin,

And his throats gapes open

like it has one more thing to say,

But he is silenced,

Cursed to speak no more

by the desires of others.

 

I wipe the knife clean

on the bed clothes,

Close his disbelieving eyes,

Ghost through corridors,

Patterned head to toe

with blood,

Avoid guards who have failed

and don’t even know it,

 

Behind me

screams echo

and echo,

Someone has lost innocence

tonight,

Been exposed to the

monsters that exist,

tonight.

 

I smile,

Job accomplished,

Plan set in motion,

Let the machinations

of these cruel powers

grind on,

I am just a tooth

In these geared wheels,

A tool that seeks to survive,

Soon one day

the monsters in the dark

will swallow me too.

 

Hopefully they get to me

before every bit of me

has died inside.