Rating: Poetry; PG-13, just to be on the safe side.
Disclaimer: If Disney wants to sue me for an extraordinarily crackfed poem, they are welcome to take my thirty-six cents and collection of My Little Pony toy points. But PotC is not mine, weep, weep.
This was never her love story;
She knew this well, regretless, from the start.
Love was cheap ink, the type that stained your hands;
Love she read in books, love broke her heart,
Love dashed herself against the sands and rocks
Of Port Royal. She cried too much.
Her pillows smelt like tears and candle-stubs
From when she'd read at night, and felt by touch
The exact page where pirate kissed the girl:
Poor Lizzie! She was coltish, awkward, green -
All till her sixteenth birthday, when she grew,
Sprouted like the roses Summer brings
And lost her bony elbows. Wretched stuff.
They gave her wine to drink, and stole her milk;
They bandaged her - like leper - into silks.
They bandaged her - like leper - into silks,
Caged in satin, a madman's doll. All mad!
And gone. The crumbling house she's built
Was wet and cold and fragile, muddy sand -
(The sand last night was warm and strangely soft.
Isn't that odd? Like silk against her skin,
Salt-stiff linen driftwood on the surface.)
Does she hate herself? She feels paper-thin
Empty and barren, like this wretched place:
Sunblasted, yellowed, withered, savage, stained,
Some pagan virgin's ritual embrace;
Dried blood, and women smirking, and, and, and...
(... legs haloed round his hips, her gasping plea -
She still remembers the sound of the sea.)
She still remembers the sound of the sea
He'd told her it was singing. He was drunk,
So drunk he could have bled it; so was she -
Part on rum, and part on kohl and pirates,
But most on him. (Elizabeth, you fool.)
She's drinking in horizon, yearning ships,
And yearning fire. Even the sea is cruel.
It glitters at her, laughs. She burns too hot
To live within this skin; what will she do?
Cold and chafed, her mind curls around each thought
Chasing, useless. She tries to feel shame.
Oh, that's no use! What's done is done is done;
It was him, and the moonlight, and the rum.
It was him, and the moonlight, and the rum,
His velvet laughter pointing out the stars
With outstretched hand. His finger and his thumb
Were careless gentle on her knee, starkly
Copper on pale linen. He sang like birds -
Should sparrow sing to swan, should it be charmed?
Or close its ears? She struggled not to drink
And then gave up. Jack Sparrow watched her dance;
Feet flickering, she wheeled upon the brink
Of razor's edge. (If this had been romance,
The tale was banned beneath blank covers.) She
Glowed like embers, linen stuck on flesh,
And then he stood. He laughed, he took her hand;
Not crying out, she lay back in the sand.
Not crying out, she lay back in the sand,
Unable - and, unwanting - to say no.
His eyes were sweet hot fury, lips demand -
She drank and gulped him in like he was air,
Like he was water, like he was - (Will) -
His skin was smoke and rum against her mouth,
And she, unceasing, could not get her fill
Much too mixed up with heady want; she swore.
(She can't recall exactly what she spat;
It was obscene.) His hands danced lewd tattoo
Upon her shift; she kissed him till he cracked
And pulled it off. Now bare to fire, she shone -
He offered, and she took - and she was gone.
He offered, and she took - and she was gone -
His lips and mouth were bullets on her tongue,
Shoulders and arms - the soft curve of her breast -
The velvet of one nipple, harshly wrung
Until she arched and keened. - Keep still, pet. Savvy?
She graciously refused. Nails bit, teeth tore;
Jack hissed into her ribs, hard, rough as he
Kissed smoking trails from breast to hip before -
Oh, yes, God, there. Cheeks pink, eyes wild, white-thighed,
Devouring mad, both eating both alive:
He rent her flesh, he split her raw inside
And quickly cut. They explode into flame -
Eternally charred gold, she screams his name.
Eternally charred gold, she screamed his name
And cauterized her own upon his flesh.
That was last night. She has a taste for salt
She can't abide. She'd all burnt up in ash
To coalesce the morning next - what now?
She cannot wait till he awakes
His pirate's eyes outlined in kohl. Let it burn.
Let him burn too - he can walk into the sea
For all she damn well cares! (Because she does.)
(Deeply.) Their fire still lives; she'll force the doors
And set it all ablaze. Her ships will find
Her dark silhouette, in front of redgold glory -
This was never her love story.