II. KING

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Pretty little thing, let me kiss
the misery out of your skin.
You're so hauntingly beautiful;
your eyes chase me even when
I'm awake. I can see you breaking
the marble columns of my spine,
singing a dead tongue as you make
your way inside my heart.

Pretty little thing, you have Medusa
playing hide and seek in your veins,
can't you see that your eyes have
turned into stones? So many unspoken
calumnies in the holes of my flesh,
I can hear them whispering your
name, and I can feel you lingering
inside my arms, my chest, my skin,
my—

PRETTY LITTLE THING! Please
keep quiet tonight. I'll let you kneel
down and beg for forgiveness, but
you must claw your way out of my
soul, tell me tales with forbidden
words, lie about the hollow rib cage
you stole.

Pretty, and little, and a thing. Must
you always be so treacherous with
your king?

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