Darcy's Arlene

Like the muses
Of my inspiration
She is a vision
In red
Unaware
Of her husband's sick game
Into a nasty porthole
She is led
Why she is chosen
Is uncertain
And I want to embrace
Her bitter end
Her hands
Are working dilligently
For my Goddess
And I wonder
If they are friends
Alongside her husband
She holds her own
Yet however hot their bath
She grows deathly colder
For he is the one
Shining
In the steaming tub
And I can only ponder
Her naked shoulder
But her husband
He would trade her
At a key party
In another decade
Lucky bastards
Consistently claim their trophy
Only to fuck her
In beds already unmade
Each time
She lies down with another
On a broken path
In her career
The another
Swells deep inside her
Causing the sky above
To turn black with fear
As lightning streaks
With a truth
So bitter
She cries out
With each hardening thrust of pain
Dripping
With the blood
Of a thousand lovers
Purple velvet clouds
Cry the devil's rain
Rain that splashes
Down around her
Surrounding her
As she is devoured
No longer
Able to fight
The threat
Of undeniable pleasure
She orgasms fiercely
As she is dominated
And overpowered
Arlene screams in silence
As the another (any other) explodes
Her heart forever numb
Her lips forever froze
The another
Rolls off her absently
Leaving her
Wet with it's stench
A slight nod in her direction
The poor wretched wench
It feels obligated
(throw her a few words)
"Sweetheart, it's been fun.
Say hey to your husband for me.
He's the lucky one."
There's blood on her ginseng
And blood on her skin
She paints her lips
With blood from the road
To have no guilt
To have no shame
To return to her husband
Fully composed
Yellow reflectors
Mirror her grace
As angels pass
In the black of late
As black as her bare feet
On the satin sheets
Of her fate
Her husband now awaits her
Having scored
An another of his blows
And then she stood before him
Pale as the moon
Of violet rose
She fell to her knees
Sobbed uncontrollably
On yellow lines
Love and hatred both felt
Forever
They are bound in twine
So he offered her a flower
The poisoned petals she ate
To spin her in his web
Of deceit
To lay her down
On a bed of mates
To marvel
The beautiful glittering lids
That painted sparkles
Upon her eyes
He whispered love's promises
So bitter
And kissed
The bruises upo her tender thighs
But alas
He will lead her back
Into a house of degradation
Once again
He will trade her
For a night of fornication
She'd laugh or she'd cry
Consent with chaste
She'd tease and deny
Whatever he asked.

-Darcy Farrow Williamson
11 September 1999


Another Arlene Like the muses Of my inspiration She is a vision In red Unaware Of her husband's sick game Into a nasty porthole She is led Why she is chosen Is uncertain And I want to embrace Her bitter end Her hands Are working dilligently For my Goddess And I wonder If they are friends Alongside her husband She holds her own Yet however hot their bath She grows deathly colder For he is the one Shining In the steaming tub And I can only ponder Her naked shoulder But her husband He would trade her At a key party In another decade Lucky bastards Consistently claim their trophy Only to fuck her In beds already unmade Each time She lies down with another On a broken path In her career The another Swells deep inside her Causing the sky above To turn black with fear As lightning streaks With a truth So bitter She cries out With each hardening thrust of pain Dripping With the blood Of a thousand lovers Purple velvet clouds Cry the devil's rain Rain that splashes Down around her Surrounding her As she is devoured No longer Able to fight The threat Of undeniable pleasure She orgasms fiercely As she is dominated And overpowered Arlene screams in silence As the another (any other) explodes Her heart forever numb Her lips forever froze The another Rolls off her absently Leaving her Wet with it's stench A slight nod in her direction The poor wretched wench It feels obligated (throw her a few words) "Sweetheart, it's been fun. Say hey to your husband for me. He's the lucky one." There's blood on her ginseng And blood on her skin She paints her lips With blood from the road To have no guilt To have no shame To return to her husband Fully composed Yellow reflectors Mirror her grace As angels pass In the black of late As black as her bare feet On the satin sheets Of her fate Her husband now awaits her Having scored An another of his blows And then she stood before him Pale as the moon Of violet rose She fell to her knees Sobbed uncontrollably On yellow lines Love and hatred both felt Forever They are bound in twine So he offered her a flower The poisoned petals she ate To spin her in his web Of deceit To lay her down On a bed of mates To marvel The beautiful glittering lids That painted sparkles Upon her eyes He whispered love's promises So bitter And kissed The bruises upo her tender thighs But alas He will lead her back Into a house of degradation Once again He will trade her For a night of fornication She'd laugh or she'd cry Consent with chaste She'd tease and deny Whatever he asked. -Darcy Farrow Williamson 11 September 1999

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