Tea for Two
Tea for Two with ground glass and blood, the taste gagging in the back of your throat and ripping you apart inside.
Twisted dreams on the side like sweets for dipping.
Innocent once, defiled by blood instead of cream, like the taste left by a prince the morning after…
The prince revealed for a monster.
Beauty should have staked him in the heart as he slept, instead seduced by libraries and lies, she stayed,
Hoping the monster would be a prince.
Dreaming that the liquid in the cup was anything but blood, and the prince hid within, wild, but with the soul of a poet.
No prince, a monster let inside the gates amidst wreckage and chains.
The beauty drugged with wine and dreaming, not wakeful with tea.
No truth in beauty, fantasy tales told by moonlight, and the lies of the monster taken for whispers by the prince.
And in the end, as all tales end, the reader awakens from the book, tea cold and blood clotted on the bed.
Lying awake, heart and memory seduced by stories and poetry and false dreams.
Nothing truly happened.