My Highness

My Highness

My Highness told me,
“your lips are cold”
she took upon herself the task of moistening them.
My mouth, a drain awaiting the poison,
like an eager tongue panting for a masochistic pleasure.
My throat tightens at her bitter entrance,
my insides churn, a fight for immunity.
But why must I fight her?
She’s the perfect antidote for my convulsing body,
the therapeutic tool for riot that’s my mind.
I feel careless when she’s inside me,
but I also get careless when she’s inside me;
two totally different things.
She smirks an approval;
her ruby promise winks at me.
The grip on my wheel firms – tires squeal,
she has her own moral code; nothing idle.
She likes misplaced euphoria and the sounds of things crashing.
I hear a ringing in my head, maybe two shots fired –
three bodies scattered.
That’s why she is right beside me,
while I choke on a pool of warm red liquid,
breathless, disjointed.
She always endures, but her victims don’t.
And that’s My Highness.