Intimus

Tonight Unhappiness visits me like an old and forgotten friend,
one I longed to be rid of many moons ago.
She tugs at the hem of my beautiful dress and says,
“Come away with me.”
At first her tone is sweet and alluring
and then turns like a tide as she finishes.
“Snap out of your bliss,” she warns me,
her voice the crack of a stinging whip.
I pull back from her ugly appearance
as gracefully as a lady can manage under the circumstances.
Still she continues to tug insistently,
and her despicably repetitive motion threatens
to rip the finely stitched sequins off my dress.
I paid a goddamned fortune for that dress.
“Let go of me,” I say condescendingly. “What are you doing here of all places?”
I look up to make sure no one was paying any mind to us,
and sure enough no one did.
They had conveniently left the room
so this friend might have words with me.
I take a long breath and look down
to see her in all her winning presence.
She is frail,
the pathetic frame of a beggar woman
who had not had a proper meal (or bath) in weeks.
But I was no fool to take any literal meaning from what I saw.
She had always come to me in one manifestation or another,
as she was nothing more than dark matter.
Any pinch of condescension I sprinkled at her was laughable,
she cared nothing for my petty bullshit.
“Get out,” I tell her, my tone dangerous.
I feel the tightness of her grip release and I’m free.
But then she pulls herself up to rise
and throws her head back in a howl of laughter
and when she looks at me again she is a different person.
This time she is a regina, and a black crown sits atop her head.
Her eyes are swollen in smokes of ravenous darkness,
wherever she turns the black diamonds in her crown shimmer.
“You can’t tell me such things,” she says with an airy wave of her hand.
“Don’t you dare visit me again,” I say with a pointed finger,
although my voice is but a whisper.
Then I see a dark red smile spread across her shadowy face
and she tells me, “How wonderful that we are together again.”
She draws closer, so close that I can smell her rosy perfume,
a scent conflicted between repulsion and enticement.
She wraps an arm around my waist and places a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Together again,” she whispers melodiously into my ear.

*

1. I’ve been watching too much Spartacus. Seeing too much ruby liquid in whatever form my sleep dreams up for me. Don’t get me wrong though – it’s bloody awesome and I’m not complaining. Anyway, don’t mind my false Hollywood latin influences and all. A momentary inspiration is what it is.
2. I picture said friend above as Melisandre but somehow more elegant and less like a 90s goth, which is how I took her to be in Storm of Swords.
3. I’ll stop the fandom references now. Right now.

RTH