Comments: I hate it, I love it, it's sporadic, confusing, and I think it has to do something with the seven deadly sins. I could be wrong. Ah yes, I should mention now that I know mellifluousity isn't a word. So please don't tell me that if you write a review, let's just say I was taking a few artistic liberties.

Godchild

Pretty baby, she sings fondling puckered flesh

While I watch her from this diaphanous haze

And you should know they call it fluidity

I’ll just gulp for breath,

—compound of saliva and something ominous—

Then live with patience, as her voice forms rust around my ankles.

--

You ask (for fools never live more than once) what brought us here

So she prepares, bowing before you piercing blanched mouth,

By burbling open wide,

Vomiting silk; it feels like the heavens

It tastes like envy

—and I plan to sing the harmony, pretty, pretty baby—

--

She wants to begin when the Cerberus opened the gate

Yet I scold her (that’s one more tear down my cheek) and say,

That once upon a time the Spider-man and Mad Hatter

Asked us to dine

—we’re seated upon pointed breath and silvery silence—

Sharpening teeth and crooning oh pretty baby.

--

Never was there such a warmth, she gasps

You watch as I cross then dissolve

The wonders of mellifluousity running down my throat

And into her belly

Pretty, oh pretty baby, they resonate then consume our remainders

—the Cheshire beaming brilliance as he greets us with a cackle—

--

Across the bridge built of failure (bones and dilapidated hairs)

Vertigo takes over me, when she looks down

But I never lose count of the steps, whisper them with honour

He does nothing but smirk

And I follow suit as she kisses the third Witch in all her predictable glory

—Pretty baby, then enfolds her in my decadence—

--

Blistered and worn, and now I need

Still, she is playing domestics with Hades

Pretty baby, loving wife, strung up in the master’s bed

Her name is Persephone

—please allow my entrance, I beg but it tells me it’s an eye for an eye—

Pretty baby, he growls for you and no other, you are more than crystalline.

--

What pummels through arteries remains a picture of a menacing grin and lust

And she murmurs, then sends her demons to crawl underneath broken skin

So I am discarded.

Simply tearing at the one vision I have left

And she kisses her lips into plumpness

—pretty baby, I want to see your placidity when you drown—

--

And I push hard against liquid, she’ll never tumble

But the jingling rust around her legs tells me:

It is finished.

Oh pretty baby, she groans, will you sing for me?

---

A/N: Thanks to all that have reviewed and will review.