Black silk paired with rose colored glasses,
For to see the wounds she herself buried deep,
Soon enough, enough time passes,
It’s as if she’s woken from a hundred year sleep-
The small and flattering waist,
Beloved by all in her glory days,
Unceremoniously replaced,
With an extra helping on a silver tray.
Every trend she had worn to conform,
Hideously out of style,
Her only accessory besides her pearls,
Is her stained and crooked smile.
Her youthful voice stolen like the mermaid,
She who once entranced the sea below,
Has rotted and hollowed and chosen to fade,
She who ran swift now hobbles slow.
“Madame Grey, I am at your service,”
Her newest conquest pronounces with pride,
Paranoid, she retreats- blushing and nervous,
Closely- too closely- he sits by her side.
They discuss the state of the world nowadays,
They never disagree.
Emotions stir within her, Madame Grey,
Perhaps a bride to be.
Spiderwebs decorate her once-stately halls,
Her formerly flawless mind- fragile,
States that he loves her, serenades her, undoes her,
Brittle laugh and that fanged, tainted smile.
On a fine spring day, a young lady arrived,
Young enough to be her daughter,
The spawn of her sister, and how she thrived-
Off of the flattery of Madame Grey’s lover.
Drama ensued, the niece pursued,
She who captured the concubine’s affections,
They sought out her blessing and received the next best thing-
The gift of her passing, freedom from her obsession.
They would never know how her wails pierced the ears,
Of the ravens that she knew, loved, and fed,
They would never know her deeply rooted fears,
Or the taste of the belladonna, or the grey ichor she bled.
