dedicated to poetadventurer you lovely inspiration of a person who got me off arse to finish this piece with your own brilliant poetry, truly, thank you
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leaning against a dusty throne, all that fills the air are the muffled sobs of acceptance and the looming silence of loneliness / in front of her sat glory, now but plastic gold that shone in the dim light around her / she had been a queen, she had danced her body around the sweaty bodies that swung around her, in search for her king / then the red plastic cup filled with sloshing purple liquid crashed to the floor as her eyes zeroed in on his lips on another's / she had never known what this feeling had felt like, standing in the middle of a room filled with people and yet you were the only one, you and your mind swirling around you, chaos scratching at your front door / she let it in, he let it in.
an hour passed, maybe three, she had drunk herself into ephemeral happiness, the alcohol that had burned down her throat now a comfort, though it wasn't like she knew that, she didn't know anything anymore / more time passed and the mindless teenagers began to file out of the gym, it made her wonder where the teachers were / probably watching some old crappy romance movie that ended with some sappy kiss and everything was alright / nothing was very alright / so she sat alone, on one of those metal fold-out chairs that you saw in high school plays, wondering if there was a way for the unthinking ways of her mind to remain / she didn't want to think / not yet / and yet.
so, the plastic crown that once sat like gilded royalty mocked her / her hand lunged out, claws unfurling, and she broke it apart / it was nothing to her, not anymore / gods, how she wished she could duct tape her entire situation back together, how silver protection could wrap around them, how those lips could be gone from his and never have appeared / she could've been dancing with him, her face drawn with happiness as bubbling laughter etched her throat / did she not deserve happiness?
stop / rewind / back the hell up / the cd screeches as its thrust into jarring motions of inverting memories / she was a queen, he'd placed a crown upon her head, plastic or not / he was king, and though a fraud of one, he still had royalty running through his blood / grabbing the littered pieces of the plastic / walking by the trash and feeling no mercy as a loud thunk was heard / how could she feel mercy?
she was a queen / and queens did not have mercy swirling in their gaze / they were no longer the golden princesses of yesterday / they spread their wings and they took off into the winter, inhaling the cold air as ice made a home in their veins / she was no longer a fire burning needlessly, she was a cold day where the sun stood in the sky but did not bring warmth to the frozen pine needles below / she was winter.
and winter was coming.
A/N but seriously, is anyone else really excited for season eight of game of thrones??
