anne-hildegard:

i used to be queen, riding skeletons, placing heads on his pillow for fun. 
the best way to leave the crime scene was not at all. the best way
was to curl around his nose like serpent smoke, make a nest in his lungs.  

i used to be queen on his wine crate throne. how did he slice me open?
deliberately. stripped the softness from my skin, filled me with stains
the shape of a dove and from feathers he assembled a cage.

i used to be queen with sorrow my concubine, a black-lidded star:
all glitter, dark matter and night. he breathed poison made from famine
and feral bones. – i kissed the mouth of a rattlesnake.

– i sold my crown, anne hildegard // task VIII: royals