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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1928889
Free verse poetry that I made when I had nothing better to do. Angst, enjoy?
A fresh sheet of paper.

A story waiting to be read.

Hand poised with pen,

This is where my story begins.

Dark and deep,

Mysteriously unraveled

By modern truths and secrets.

I dare you, fair reader,

to venture deep

Into my world,

Of vines,

Of thick lies.



It was a dark January.

Snow covered the sidewalk.

Fresh footprints stained like mint.

Leaves of crisp spiciness.

I step outside,

Lace skirt and button-up blouse.



Parasol in hand,

Prepared for the trip.

A voice echoes behind me.

"Marie! Marie!" It calls,

I swiftly turn my head

To address the caller

And find myself face to face with

Antoine.



Chocolate curls sit on top

Of a handsome head.

Hazel eyes begging

With mystery.

A soft set of lips,

Out of breath.

This right here,

This fair creature,

Is my secret love.



Ever since age ten,

My heart was filled

With gentle caresses,

Only by him,

My fair Antoine.

My flushed cheeks,

Bare my secret.



But he, oblivious to all,

Does not realize.

He, my fair Antoine,

loves another girl.

The prettiest in town,

The one and only, Jane.

He whispers her name,

Through that soft set of lips,

Of which I long to kiss.



Bittersweet, love is.

I would like to experience

Jane's life.

Admired by that fair Antoine.



There she stands,

Fragile and sweet,

Like a Russian doll.

Inside, my rage

Breaks onto the shore.

Like storm waves.

But outside,

I am a perfectly normal lady.

Just outside for a stroll.



Antoine manages a slight wave, before turning all his attention

to none, but that wench Jane.

O, how she stole my love.

Fair and innocent.

Cursed, she will be.

For stealing what is not hers.

Only I, have known that fair Antoine the longest.

Only I, know his deepest secrets.

Only I, know every detail about him.

Only I, should be loved by him.



My heart twists with pain,

Contorted with urges of revenge.

I will kill her, I think.

And watch by my fair Antoine,

as he weeps over her cold, dead body.

His tears, innocent and clear.

I will catch them in my grasp.

I will catch his love in my arms.

I will snatch away my fair Antoine.

From that hateful wench.

O Jane, why are you evil?

Prettiest of all the ladies in town,

Murmurs about her beauty are to be found.

Why must my fair Antoine love her,

And not me?



I am just as worthy as she.

Bathed in riches and glory.

Same social status,

Same goals, same fulfillments.

Just the opposite,

But just the same.

Light and dark,

Twisted with lies.

Sometimes I wonder,

if I could trade spots with her.

I would be willing to go to the dark side,

If it meant my fair Antoine would,

Forever,

Be mine.



O that wench Marie,

She flutters with elegance,

As she speaks with

My fair Antoine.

His laugh, a soft twinkling thing,

Makes my heart beat faster.

But it is not me he laughs with,

It is that wench,

Jane.

My loatheful heart,

Is only cured by the fact of

My love.

My pure love for that fair Antoine.

No vines,

No hate,

Just love.



But that wench Jane,

O, that wench.

Turns my pure love

Bittersweet.

O, that wench.

She deserves death.



Here begins my tale.

Full of deceit, and lies.

Wound up by past truths.

Love, O my bitter love.

Sprung from clear purity.

Twisted until it is no longer recognizable.

O Love, Why do you hurt me so?



The bell tolls 9,

And I am forced away

From the scene of two lovers,

Antoine is now officially Jane's,

For he is courting her,

To the village dance.

My heart shatters,

Crushed by my false hopes.

That I would be the one by that fair Antoine's side.

That I would be the one laughing with him.

That I would be the one going tot he dance with him.

O why not me?

Why can't I be given,

My fair Antoine's,

Pure love?



I stroll to the lovers,

Manage to wave,

Then quickly move away.



I am called home,

By my mother.



Days pass,

Weeks,

Months.

I am left,

Staring at their backs.

Left alone.



In this world,

I have no friends.

No one to talk with,

No one to understand me.



Except him,

My fair Antoine.

He was the first person to approach me.

The first one to converse with me.

My first, and only,

Friend.



But alas, love is cruel.

Within days,

I was falling

Into that abyss of love.

My fair Antoine,

Talked,

Endlessly,

About her.



Jane.

O Jane.

How the light shines in your eyes.

How the sea begs for mercy as you walk past.

O, how the stars surrender to your beauty.

Nothing on Earth could compare.

O Jane,

My first hate.



My heart broke that day.

I was left crying in the yard all night.

The next day I decided,

My love,

Would be an unrequited love.

No end,

No beginning.

But alas,

My woe.

It accumulates,

further down the road,

As Jane began, to love,

My fair Antoine

Back.



And there I sank,

Farther,

And deeper,

Into depression.

My fair Antoine,

No longer reached out,

To me.



O woe.

Why must it be me?

To lose my love,

My fair,

Antoine,

To that hateful wench.



And so it started.

My loatheful plan,

My carefully devised plan,

To kill,

That wench Jane.



I would drip poison into her food,

Carefully, when she was not watching.

No, I would kill her with my own

Two hands.

But I do not want to get my hands stained

With that wench's

Blood.



It would be thick,

pouring from her body,

That pale, frail,

Body.



I would make her

Cry out in pain.

She deserves this,

O Jane.

Rage pours into my mind,

Like fresh liquor,

Sloshing and heavy.



The next day is soft

As a whisper.

The grass has started to

Grow.

Its new sprouts racing towards

The sun.



I gingerly step outside and

See them.

My heart breaks,

Once again.

O hateful Jane,

Kissing my fair Antoine.



Acting like there's

No one else

In this world.

I walk past,

Tears fresh in

My eyes.



That night I decide.

I brew the potion,

Slow and painfully,

While thinking of Jane's death.

Antoine will be weeping,

And I shall comfort him

And make him love me instead.



My potion surpasses,

All the greatest apothecaries.

For I,

Have learned since

Six years old,

The fine art of killing,

With liquids.



It smells odorless,

Colorless, transparent.

I step outside,

With the vial in my palm.

I see the hateful wench's cup.

They are still immersed,

In themselves.

I pour the vial and

Slip away,

Waiting.



Finally, they take a break

From their embrace.

I see Jane reach towards the cup.

My glittering eyes

Cannot wait

For that hateful Marie to die.



But,

She reaches for the cup,

And offers it to Antoine.

My fair Antoine smiles,

And accepts.

I watch in horror,

As Antoine takes

A sip.

His face convulses,

His hands grasp his neck.

His eyes bulge,

And veins pop out.

He falls to the ground,

Breathing in shallow pants.

Halfway dead now.

I cannot look away,.

My eyes are frozen in shock.

Blood starts pouring from my fair Antoine's throat.

Thick,

Rivulets,

Of gushing

Crimson.



Innocent blood,

Good blood,

Fair blood,

Now gone to waste.



O hateful Jane,

She falls to the ground,

And pitifully sobs.

Shaking Antoine,

And calling for help.



Antoine's hand brushes

Jane's face,

Manages a grotesque smile,

And there,

He dies.



I gasp,

And fall to the ground,

Lacking energy and vigor.

Everyrthing,

Everything,

Is gone.



My life,

It has no value.

O fair Antoine,

Why must you leave me?



That wench Jane,

Stands up,

Surrounded by doctors.

She is ushered to the clinic,

My fair Antoine,

Is ushered to

The morgue.



My plan failed,

Miserably.

The wench lives,

While my pure love is dead.



I run home,

My eyes red

From crying.

Not even that wench Jane,

Cried as much as me.

No, I love Antoine far more than she.

I will prove it,

I will.



I will die with him.

I have another sip of potion lying in my chamber.

I rush up the stares,

Stumbling over my own two feet.

This will release me from my depression,

My foes,

My woes.

I spot it,

A milky vial,

Filled with liquid.

A back-up.



Grasping it,

I tear off the top,

And drink it breathlessly.

As my blood begins pouring,

I see the tunnel of my life,

Painful memories,

Coming back.



I utter one last sentence,

Before I am completely gone.



"I love you, my fair Antoine."
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