I Am

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I lace the edges of your being

With the gentlest touch of my blade

Wear your curves around my lips

Like a deep scarlet shade

Drape the flaws that you hide

Like a tiger in her stripes

And the scars that we share

I paint in colours of despair

The fraying bits of you

I mend with honey dew

The sweetest of the blood

I drain from your love

And the strongest of souls

I reap from your remorse

I am your past and your present

And soon your future too

Look me in the eye

I am what you deny

Am I not the only truth you see?

Your fondest lover, your worst enemy

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Gifts

“He used to shower me with gifts, you know” She walked in unannounced. The sound of heels clattering against tiles ceased and her heartless gaze met the horrifed face of the only occupant of the kitchen. 

She studied the maid like an animal weighing its options. A disgusting housekeeper is what he fancied better than the one woman coveted by hundreds of suitors. What was it that he saw in a filthy maid that he failed to find in a noble woman like her. Beauty maybe, but no ranks, no jewels, no class, a piece of garbage. He got what he deserved.

“M..Mrs. Desmund! How n..nice of y..you to stop-p by. W..would you like s…some tea?” The maid frantically dug into the cupboard, looking for an excuse. Her shivering hands let slip a kettle and the sound of expensive china shattering like her sanity, enveloped the kitchen. She froze and so did her heart. 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE UNLESS I TELL YOU TO! UNDERSTAND YOU WHORE?!”

The lady like poise vanished as a monster slipped through the crevices of a perfectly polished persona. Mrs. Desmund took a deep breath, composed herself, and tried to block out the sobs of a filthy 18 year old, panic striken servant.

She placed a beautifully wrapped package on the kitchen table,
“Always wearing himself out” She continued in her previous charming tone, “finding the most expensive ring, the smoothest pearls, the largest diamonds, the perfect tokens.”

“And yet, this one is the best I’ve received so far”

A slight tug to the ribbon let the wrapping loose; the grip on the rag tightened and so did the lungs making breathing laboured. Prespiration and tears adorned one woman’s face while a steely smile carved into the other’s. The paper slipped and a mortified face of Mr. Desmund peeked through. Glassy life-less eyes stared back into the gleeful eyes of a woman he once cheated on. The air seemed to thin in the spacious kitchen and lights seemed to dim as the maid fought hard to maintain focus.

“Don’t you think?” whispered Mrs. Desmund, stroking the matted hair of her loving husband. The maid stood petrified, holding onto her dirty rag as if she had just peered into the future, and seen her own imminent death. Her skin had turned a pale similar to that of her lover’s putrid head. 

“It’s a shame you have to see him like this.” She turned towards her. Her limbs and conciousness began betraying her as she struggled to get up and run for her life.

“P-please Mrs. D..esm..umd p..please, believe m..me please, It’s n..not…NO! Please…It was him…” she tried to sound intelligible between sobs, but Mrs. Desmund wasn’t listening.

The sound of metal scraping against stone followed by wallowing shrieks of misfortune echoed in the newly furnished kitchen.

“It’s about time I gave him the perfect gift.”