21

Tell me, if you will, if I've failed... for caring not enough?
A string of hearts trampled upon
spat words of affection with nauseous disdain,
such feelings surely spawn from weakness?
I sought gratification in flesh, in vein
"swill down the guilt and lament tomorrow"
And how soon tomorrow comes...

I tried to resist like man delays death
but my bark had no bite against your raging light,
how you softened a heart unflinching
and blinded my wandering eye.
But to have so naively thought you felt the same
now it's my heart that's taken to the slaughter
won't you rinse me down of love's bloody shame?
Tell me, if you will, if I've failed... for caring far too much?


© 2010 Florence Challender

Thanks

Hi,
a collective thanks to everyone for the supportive feedback. It's been an incentive to post more seeing as they've been received well!
Florence,
xx

20

Oh flesh soft and tender
white as a winter's offering,
cold as the snow that hardens the Earth's crust
auburn strands twist, beaded with silver
frames a face so fair, lips paled by Frost's kiss.
Head adorned with a crown of thorns and curling petals,
eyes spill innocence, stone grey but sparkling
a blackened tear leaks..

Strength in those features, alight in the flame's warm glow
but still the curvature of the cheeks, the body
handle with care.
The dress that clings, a heavy heart beat drumming through
breath catches with fear, her chest hovers
cotton wrinkles around her thighs, brushes her soft arms
her raised skin tingling with the cool night breeze,
you burn to touch her.

But you must not be fooled!
The mouth too wide hides teeth newly constructed
to tear the flesh from the bone,
to sap life, to squander it in an instant.
She will beckon you and you will chance it
and when fresh blood trickles down her porcelain skin,
you will become the unsuspecting lover
the first skull on the pile.

© Florence Challender 2009

19

Rumpled bedsheets, a candle sheds a tear
rose from lover lies on the floor, a saccharin gesture rots
a yellowing novel sits, its words taking seed in her mind.
She whimpers, a solemn sigh escapes
her face a canvas with a flourish of Victorian scandal
jet ribbons snake over every ivory curve,
the night resting heavy on her shoulders.

A silhouette pours through a crack of curtain,
and the dust is lifted
a cloaked figure is poised, sinister with a touch of elegance.
Misplaced, he belongs elsewhere- a graveyard or morgue
he arches his spine and closes in, pushes back the cloth. Revealed!

Pale and emaciated, what dark eyes convey...lust, thirst, hunger
pearly blades, blood stained- a chance mutation?
draws back his coarse, blue lips.
Starved of love after a lifetime of death,
his heart lies in a gutter and drips.

Her eyelids snap and bones tighten
but still sparks of excitement fly,
he beckons her with dexterous fingers which dance along the cotton
and lace.

She pushes air from her chest and turns her head,
too inviting as her neck is pressed.
"Close my eyes to the true ugliness of mine life!" she cries
he penetrates the exterior and dark red leeches from dark red holes
she sighs at the pleasure as she's maimed,
age old and Medieval, thought to cure a victim's pain.
She drinks bad blood, black and viscous...

The infection seeps in, an ancient sickness spreads
tearing nerves like silk thread, rewiring, changing the imprint
and starting anew.
Her heart sinks, defeated.

Burning cravings spawn from a diseased soul
a desire to drink, she licks her lips lustily.
"The living are like clockwork, too mechanical, too human" she thinks
"Now it's the dead's time to reign".


© 2009 Florence Challender

18

Do you remember when we first met?
A brief encounter, barely an exchanged glance beforehand
I can remember the bite in the air, that familiar stench
I wasn't looking my best, but then, neither were you,
Hung up on nicotine cravings and sleepless nights

I don't know what possessed me, pride or fear?
My heart sank like my feet
I'm sorry.

Decades passed and I still can't rinse away the shame
It stays locked in the drawer,
The one with the strong whisky and dusty sepia photgraphs.
My mind plays it over and over, like an old reel of film
flickering behind my eyes.

I will not hesitate, as we sit back to back so my eyes do not
meet with your stony expression.
I am about to meet a fate less heroic than yours
I am deteriorating fast,
Each breath is becoming more laboured
Years on the pipe to ease my nerves

I want to sit a while, absorb the view
Perhaps my last chance before I am clamouring on Hell's door.
Do you remember when we first met?
Because I remember it like yesterday

© 2009 Florence Challender

17 (Acedia)

Sloth's stranglehold
depression,
a curse and a crutch.
It is a vision of life through a mud speckled monocle.
Pandora's box unveiled.
Dark-winged parasites take refuge in my head
but to stimulate my apathy,
is to place me in the ground.
Inside my monster, robbed of its soul
lies a sleeping clown.


© 2009 Florence Challender

16

Your love, you said
was fatal
it engulfed its recipients,
sucked them in.
Your passion, you said
was furious
a tempest,
with static electric fingertips.
Your lust, you said
was intoxicating
the dependable trickster
left them in ruins.
My lust, I said
was bottle bred
my passion, I said
was momentary.
But my love, I said
was you


© 2009 Florence Challender