The queen of my heart, you flung your tiara at my face, like the princess you were when you first gave me that gash
When you first gave me that gash, I smiled and stared, and we kissed and made love and the blood smeared your face
The blood smeared your face, and you licked your lips, and refused to let me wipe it away. You loved the smell you said
You loved the smell you said, but now it’s a scar, healed, a memory trapped, and now opened again because of you
Because of you, my princess, and then my queen, but what was I to you, your prince? Your king?
My prince? My king? I laugh at you peasant boy, you could have been all that if you only caught the tiara instead of presenting a cheek
You presented your cheek and i kissed you so that it may stop the pain, but you bled and bled and blamed me for it
And even now, when I’m a queen, not yours, and rightfully so, i throw this at you to hurt, but again you show your face…and bleed again…but this time, know the difference… I’m not going to help you and risk getting hurt again
