she has little pockets
just beneath her eyes
perfect for catching false tears,
water that wells in want,
not in pain.
My eyes fill with water too,
this time with anger,
anger for the Queen of Cabot.
Queen of Sins,
Queen of Lies she is called
but all she is is the Queen of Hearts.
A fair maiden that once ruled a happy kingdom,
with ebony locks and a king worth dying for,
and two princesses with dreams in untroubled sleep.
And without a glance she left,
no second chance,
no last goodbye,
no mournful cry,
except for the endless river running through her soul,
waiting to overflow the banks
and create
a waterfall
that swims in a sea of feining tears,
from a black head stained red with the blood of stolen hearts.