This is the winter at the end of the world. It's good that she has the fur coat, because the snow is falling drooled from the maw of a monster that is the blacker than blackness, and all the fires of the world are snuffed
. There are only his footfalls as he approaches, captain through familiarity of these elements of misery and shackled to their throne.
"Baby." The steampuff of the word is helpless here, blown apart the moment it leaves her lips. He can see clearly the striptease of her diamond sparkle eyes
, and it turns out it's only sleight of hand and dull aluminum.
He throws his heart down like a gauntlet
and she can see the dogs have already been at it. Her stomach is growling, but they've left just gristle and sinew.
He reaches and he takes her hand. For a second it is so small in his that it is lovely.
He steps backward, pulling her forward to where the thing lies staining the gritty snow with the last croaked insults of its dry heaving
With one kiss, he is still her supplicant.
He grabs those Campbell's soup can curls
on the nape of her neck, pushing her down as he kicks her shins from under her, and all his dignity falling from her pockets
as she is forced to hands and knees. Stale meat fills her mouth and nostrils. It gets in her eyes. Every scream only takes another gulp until the heart is gone and she is licking up the bloody snow, tears laying filthy tracks through her carefully applied deception
He's gone when she wakes up. The snow is a slushy rain, and the fluffy thousand dollar token of the affection she tore to shreds
is soaked in mud and carnage. She calls his name and the echo carries itself so far and back that it becomes an animal's scream. She curses him heartless to leave her this way
until she remembers.
She sobs hard enough to break the moulding of femme fatale and stands pitieous, the urchin weened on the blood of a thousand loves
. Her tears bring no aid, and there is no compassion like submission
. Her shrine boarded up, she seeks the light spilled by the nearest bar, the scent of full coffers and fresh worship
And a man takes the next stool, and his cheeks are exploding with the flames of his love. For even at her worst, she is not bad. "Anything," he promises.
She lays her head over his heart and suckles seductively at his jugular.