Heart of Ice Die Die Die

A Streambed So Black

*WARNING: this poem is very, very long*

The black stream was flowing past,
and taking my heart with it.
Black in the night
was the water,
and so alone.
The bright colors
have faded out of this fairytale.
The fairytale is dead.
Leave your worn Converses
at the bank emo child.
Trade your faded jeans
and balck t-shirt
for the treasures of the streambed.
Whispered the flowing blackness.
'Come, '
Came the whispered sigh,
'Come, '
I put one pale bared foot
in front of the other
and felt the cool inky water rise.
Up, up, up to my ankles
and then to my hips.
The silky sigh came again
as I became completely
submerged in its welcoming black depths.
A chill went down my spine
as the smooth silky sigh
came to me once more.
My emo child,
my sweet,
you have come at last.
Take the treasures before you,
administer your cuts.
Do as you wish
my sweet emo child.
I watched as
the wishes of the voice were unfolded.
Clothes and jewelry and knives appeared.
Other people came forward
and embraced me,
I was their's
as they were mine.
We were the people of the streambed.
A white dress so beautiful
as a flower lily,
made to cpmpare it's beauty,
I chose with black sandals
with white flowers.
I could never have worn these
in the world above the watertop.
Too many scars,
too many tears.
My people did my hair
and jewled it.
I was beautiful,
beautiful as they were,
beautiful as I had never been
in the world I came from.
'Bring her it, let my child see.'
This whispered the stream.
'Show it to her.'
And so I was shown.
They brought forward a case,
a beautiful case of silver.
But far more beautiful,
far more enchanting,
was the thing
in which the case held inside.
Nestled there on a bed of satin
was a knife.
The blade double-sided
and gleaming with a power within.
The handle was black onyx
with an inscription of runes.
Let it hurt,
let it bleed.
But on the flipside
the runes ring
to a different chime.
I love you,
please forgive me.
Though these were my words,
my own thoughts,
here they were,
on the blade of my gleaming dagger.
The blade of silver blue.
'Do you like it
my sweet emo child? '
But I could not speak,
I watched the diamonds gleam
down the middle fo the dagger
and around the edges
of the hilt,
perfectly fit for my small hand.
The shining tears fell down
my cheeks and spattered
to the floor,
perfect and crystal-like.
But my smile is heartbreaking,
yet sweet as honey.
'It's beautiful my sweet stream.
Tis perfect.'
Now I layed that same
double-bladed knife,
that same unearthly dagger,
to my marble skin
and began to carve.
My left forearm carried two messages,
both rune epicted.
It read the same
as the blade
I would now carry with me always.
My right read:
Come my sweet emo child, come.
My deliverance message.
When the blood finally stopped
I washed it away
in the stream beneath the stream
and stood to smile up at my stream.
Once more came the sweet silky sigh.
'You are now more beautiful
than any other has
ever been my sweet beautiful emo child.
You are as beautiful and sweet
as a mourner's lily
after the fall.
Be all that you are
my sweet beautiful perfect emo child.
Be free
and know that I love you.'
This purred the stream in my ear.

Told you it wuz long, hope it wuz worth it!

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Poem Edited: Friday, August 24, 2012

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