My lady is a warrior

She is bittersweet,
and frightfully funny,
sometimes hot,
sometimes cold,
an idol for elegance.
I saw
how she
the devil’s dick in
the moonlight.
God damn,
she is a goddess,
or at least descendant from royalty;
a blue-blooded mystery,
the result
of generations of incest;
mentally fuckin’ ill,
a puppet
of her own
subconscious will
and whatever I do,
if I look through it all,
she still haunts my like
my worst nightmare –
is more of my
favorite kind.
In nightly visions
she wears
her enemy’s heads
on her belt.
There lifeless eyes
on the floor.
“Headless Gimps”,
she calls
these fools
and she calls me
by that name too.
But the sparrows
land on her shoulders
if she speaks.
And feed
meant for the birds,
in her pockets.
Sometimes she puts aside the sword,
and just sits there,
feeds birds
and gazes into the distance.
A shame that
she then
tends to look
past me.
Even though
I understand

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