Death-in-spades

Words, she says. I’ll fall in love with his words. The words spoken under the moonlight. Sweet words, spoken in pastel whispers Cherry blossom coloured words Word that conceal passion like a scarlet rose. Words that paint a picture; a lifetime. But I do not understand, Tangled truths in iris ink. The numbers; simple and agile. Easier to understand, easier to love For the letters do not form a patten. No logic, just endless promises. Talk about pain, talk about love. Like scratches on a blackboard. She loves metaphors, smilies, alliterations. I love algebra, trigonometry, symmetry. Like two parallel lines, never to touch. And on that L

The moon shines bright upon the midnight wall. The deceivingly endless silence crying with the wind. The loving warmth enticing and dangerous So close, so far But in the corner where the shadows take shelter. One black cat sleeps, soundlessly and ever so alert

The chains pulling me down Your words, your touch, cutting my skin, ripping, the drops of blood oozing onto the chains. The chains stained rouge. And you dare say to my crippled form. You dare say, "It’s not my fault." Then tell me, in the middle of the night, when darkness comes to lick my wounds, Whose name should I carry into the sunrise?

She rushed into the bedroom, a swirl of bliss. She laughed at nothing in particular, just delighted at life’s turn of events. In her hands held a book and a dagger. A dagger, given from generation to generation, every woman in her family would be given it on their most beloved day. The ruby engraved upon the silver handle, glistened in the warm afternoon breeze. She put the book down next to a bottle of ink by the bed side table. The moonless colour of the ink and the coal-black book were out of place in this celebratory room. He had warned her about the book. Had told her that she should only open the book when she wished for the trut

The white figure glistens in the moonlight. The detective watching the scarlet jewel. Their mischievous smiles like a mirrored image. Let the show begin

Have you ever heard of the magician? He is like the moon. So dazzling and still so invisible. Strangely close and strangely far. Those who are closer - know him less Caging me with those eyes. Have you ever heard of the magician?