Gilded lilies:
Tried rearranging the pieces of the broken mirror to make myself look right again, but now my palms are seeping in my own self hatred and blood.
Can’t I look back up at the she-devil in disguise? Is that a sin in anybody else’s eyes but mine?
Trace my fingers over the gilded lilies etched ever so gently into her velvety skin, the colour matching the tear stains on her glowing flank.
Her chambers and shackles held still in my arms, if love is “just love” then why is ours ever so forgotten? Why can’t I just hold her who I ever so need in the same way *he* can?
Etched those gilded lilies into my skin ever so gently, but they’re covered in my seeping self hatred and blood.