l'Ombre Noire

Let's watch the gnarled face as it swings on by,
to the melody of daunting whispers; and the words that they imply.
Resting promiscuously upon the lips,
of a driven-mad no one; and the impact of her kiss...
I saw,
what would later be referred to as the meaning of it all.
You know it must mean something, if it's carved into the skin,
of the same unsullied no one, and the walls of where she's been.
'You can never pay your debts with playing cards,' she said
because I most likely would have attempted it
to redeem the quality of my life, or the spot to which I fit.
So I dropped her like a burden, that's been put back in its place;
and I spat opinions in the eye of her gnarled, swinging face.

Let's touch the severed hand as it swings on by,
to the chorus of haunted voices; and the sentences they cry.
Dancing charismatically upon the finger tips,
of a hatchet wielding mad man; and the ignorance of his bliss…
I felt,
what would then be referred to as the playing cards I dealt.
And I knew that they meant something, from the hands that they were in,
because the hatchet wielding mad man was here to win again.
‘You can never beat the one who stands above you,’ he said
because he knew I had attempted it
to reveal the quality of his life, and his unbridled lack of wit.
So I tightened him like clock work, and left him there to stand;
on the grave that I had dug for him, with his severed hand.

Let’s adore the beating heart as it swings on by,
to the tune of lovers in the street; and the stories that they sigh.
Running rampantly across the veins,
of a less than gorgeous cousin; and the swelling of her brain...
I heard,
what would sooner be referred to as a tale of the absurd.
I said it must mean something, in the world of sicker things,
because the sick ones only know what the illness brings.
'Hair is meant to tie your head down', she said
because she knew my head was floating
high above the tourniquet and the phrases she was quoting.
So I sewed her quoting lips together as a start;
and I made her get down on those knees, to kiss her beating heart.

Let's abhor the luscious legs as they run on by,
to the beat of pounding pavement on her pallid upper thigh.
Stepping cautiously upon the name,
of a soiled reputation that I could easily attain...
I caught,
what had better be referred to as the secret she forgot.
And I knew that she meant something, from the swagger in her hips,
because the swagger only holds what the legs have missed.
'Faces were made to swing', she said
because she knew my soul was hurting
from the prospect of her gnarled face, lasciviously flirting.
So I paid my debt in playing cards, and tied her head back down;
I beat the one who stood above me, and never turned around.