Give me your heart (The Queen of Hearts)

                                  
                           

"How do you feel when you break the meaty surface with your teeth?"

"Do you chew or merely swallow?"

"Do you suck its juice or let it drip?"

"How old are you, really?"

"Who makes your dresses?"

She took a deep breath of pleasure and closed her eyes. More than 100 heart beats were celebrating her first appearance in public. She looked at the woman in the front row, the one who asked about the dresses.

"My dresses are my own designs" her metallic voice rang, "A friend makes them for me and in return

I give her something small to yearn.

You over there! My pretty girl you seem to have a soft heart. Come closer,

I won't give you a start."

There was laughter in the room.

"The rituals I perform, the hearts that I consume,

keep me young and warm,

for more than you can possibly assume."

The woman sat at her feet and touched the hem of her dress,

she adored her, like the rest of the press.

Flashes all around her, she turned on the left to show her paler side.

"I have a freezer to keep them fresh, however I must confess,

there's no more room left...what should I do...

where to keep them, my house is full!"

"In the basement!"

"Down the shute!"

They shouted to her amazement,

they all had what it took.

"We love you, we love you..."

"I have your tattoo.."

"RIP MY HEART OUT TOO!!!"

More people had come,

they begged her for more,

she waved an ivory hand,

 to those who screamed at the back.

"What do I do with a freshly harvested heart?

I boil and bake and fry and stuff,

some I eat raw, I enjoy that part."

The crowd grew restless, they had come for more after all.

She closed her eyes and stood up, hands outstretched, she looked up above.

A musical voice escaped her lips:

GIVE ME YOUR HEART
GIVE ME YOUR HEART
OR I"LL RIP IT APART

One by one their chests slowly bled, with knives and forks and nails and chairs.

It was no easy job, after all!

One helped the other on this gruesome task,

nobody screamed, they all laughed.

The red glistening balls

 made a heap on the floor.

Blood splattered on the walls,

they all fell smiling like broken dolls.

She stepped down to the heap of hearts,

and lay upon them like a small girl sleeping on the grass.

"Now where to put them all..." she muttered sadly

 and took a bite from the ripest, bloody ball,

 deep in thought and contemplation.

photo by Natalie Shau

Stunning she was... (The Herald came)



.....but wicked and evil. She had blood in her hands and in her hair and she sat there in front of her mirror smacking her lips and licking the tips of her fingers.

She had killed yet another. Hearing movement behind the door, she threw her shawl around her throat and glided towards the door...room service.

The young man walked inside unafraid and unarmed because he knew something she did not..that he was already dead.....

He walked inside and stood before her with a wide smile drawn on his rosy lips.
This made her feel unprecedented unease.
"What can I do for you young man. You are foolishly brave to have come." She said softly and assumed her  pose sitting on her chair.
She pulled her shawl away from her round breasts, yet left it hang and crossed her ivory legs
slowly.
The young man walked behind her chair,
and leaned right beside her head.
She looked in the mirror to catch a glimpse of his face and terror overwhelmed her..there was no face to behold.
She swirled at him with ready claws, to rip, to tear his face, to gulp his eyeballs whole, though she felt full, indeed, and met The Mouth, a huge, black gaping hole.
It was rotten and reeking and huge. It covered her face and sucked her in.
She pulled back, and tried to pull the head apart.
But it was too late. She heard it suck her in; her beauty, the stolen blood, her flesh.
Its poison melted her cheekbones and drilled into her marrow.

Her heart reached her mouth. He pulled it right out.

Her shawl fell on the floor; there was a throat no more to hold it on.
Scarlet spewing from her throat's hollow, she staggered towards the sill,
decapitated, not yet lifeless,
there was no thrust, only disgust,
when she tried to grasp where was once her head.

The Herald left as he had come,
the deed was done....

PART II

      Stunning she was,

      but she should have known that competition was getting rough,

she should have left for a while, not stay and laugh,
at the face of what was yet to come.

Thousands upon thousands of beasts feed on human flesh,

all  thirsty and hungry and cold,
without a trace of a soul.

They roam the streets night and  day  enslaving our minds, ensnaring our bodies, our senses, devouring our souls..

When one of them is on the loose,

the Herald is brought to set things straight,

Its Mouth is never late

it feeds upon familiar hate, its own kind without remorse.

From the bloody womb of the Earth's core,

the Herald feeds on rotting gore,

but when he doesn't get his share,

he rises above and settles his score.