in all her terribleness
her kingdom is a mess
and she's started to name the flies
keeping them as pets
there is a lot she will tolerate
if her lover is beautiful
he'll tell her how awful she is
he'll drown her in the toilet
and pace back and forth on the rotting veranda
cursing her under his breath
her castle is falling apart
holes are forming in the moth eaten drapes
bricks are crumpling
and threatening to fall on hapless visitors' heads
the bridge has collapsed
and one must step over marshy swamp lands
to enter her ragged gateway
she stays in her tower
he tosses roses with the flowers stripped off
and only the thorny stems left
at her feet
she walks over them and does not notice
blood, spit, semen, tears
it's all the same to her
he screams at her
"Why don't you cry?!"
she has seen her cracking face
in the lines of the warped mirror
she has seen the overgrown
gardens taking back the land
she has seen the mice
scurrying to their nests
and the bee's making their homes
in the wombs of lost caves
Paradise is fading
and she has fed all up on its tasteless milk
fetid rot has a much more attractive odor
swallowing up the senses
in a sinking embrace
the jungle breathes
humps over silently and waits
she can feel her legs turning to mud
leaving her sludgy footprints about the floorboards
he splashes soapy water
angrily around the throne room
but the rotting jungle has other ideas
and creeps up the castle walls
in long stretching vines
searching for that terrible Queen it calls home
she is the mother to what those pretty lovers chose to waste
she is the filth they built their gleaming kingdoms on
down here she knows the truth
that all the world
was born from ooze
with that soft underbelly exposed
and no matter how hard you scrub
one day we will all return
to that sludge
and rot away for the next generation
to build their perfect homes upon
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