Welcome to Gaia! ::

Put on your mask like this, like this
Ribbon, ribbon, paint and silk,
Make sure that the strings are showing, please
(We don't want a mess like the last one).
Just so; two fingers here, three fingers here, a frame for your eyes and your mind.

Lovely. They will swoon at your feet, the mortals, you know,
Assuming you play your knives right, they will never get up.
And I taught you to aim,
You will not waver, your hands are steady enough.
Steel cards, thin edges -
These are not things to fear, but things to use.
You will need them where you are going,
To catch the light and make yourself a beacon
Among the glittering.
They are weapons, do not imagine them jewels -
That would be a waste -
But nothing has only one purpose, and every aspiring murderess
Should surround herself with mirrors,
Carry smoke before her in her white arms,
(You're still choking on those cigarettes? Tsk, tsk)
Because the best sort of killer is a wizard,
A stage magician transcending stages.

Isn't that right, my pet, my love?
Knives and fans and kisses,
Practical, death-dealing things, but better misused, abused,
Until the time comes to strike, and then you can be honest,
Can wear the arsenic-laced rogue,
Can treat your paper ornaments like the cudgels they are,
Can slice away their grasping fingers, instead of gambling pearls on
Those black-and-white aces with teeth.

It will be hard. I understand. Tradition requires
Your patience, your smile,
Tradition requires a pretty face for the witch
Who poisons apples and curses enamel combs,
Tradition requires the climax at midnight,
The unveiling, the laughter;
I do not wish to challenge your destiny, dearest,
By letting you go naked and grotesque, with your hair unbound,
Feet burned and swollen from all those past magical shoes,
Skin broken - one doesn't roll in a nailed barrel and come out unscathed,
Full of joy and lust and greed,
Killing them without care for ritual and explanation,
Stoving their heads in, gnawing their guts,
A common monster.
Where is the fascination in that? Consistency does not inspire terror;
Hence the disguise, which makes no attempt at reality,
With its obvious shadow behind the curtain,
But which will be sufficient, believe me,
To make you the paradox that is all fear needs.

As consolation, as a reward
For sophistication, for polish: won't it be fun
To see their shock,
(Sometimes feigned for the look of it, I'll grant),
Their utter surprise
When you pop out their eyeballs?

---

Ewww. I dunno. This was more gratification than anything.

I loved the first stanza. But when I got to the second, the transition and flow wasn't meeting.. I felt like I had to read each stanza seperately.

But it was only a slight distraction. You had some amazing lines in there to say the least. Great allusions and metaphors.

I do agree with Kirby, the last stanza did not end this piece with justice.

Well there were better ways to put it...*Shrug* don't ask me though. You're way out of my gimpy little league ><

Haha, yeah, not. I think it's rather the opposite.



Mm, taaasty maggots.

The latter.

Sorry about that, ambiguity and I are, ah... very good... friends. Yes.

Isn't it great? xd It's so satisfying to say.

And no, I'm not better than you at this. But I am silly! In the extreme.

My native state!

We must live near each other.

Putting a bag over your head would be such a waste. I like your poetry.

Anyway, thank you thank you thank you. =D There is, as you say, inconsistency, but I'm glad that the idea carries it through.