The Queen of Filth
The Queen of Filth
All I'm saying is that you don't know half of it.
All of you still repeat the pretty lies the slippery poets spat in your heads.
It wasn't like that.
I was there, the best of Greece were there; Troy burned in our eyes:
And the King of Sparta did not leave with his pretty Queen: the shame of Greece. The Queen of filth.
He just...pat on the Boss's shoulders and strode off like a proud horse merchant.
Yeah I remember her, those fucking...blinding locks,
Half the army once thought she was blonde, the other thought she was red, we fought, died and I still don't remember. And her eyes, witching eyes, neither wholly blue or gray, but dancing clouds of colors. Never a deadlier weapon. I've known lads who'd cut out their guts out to make her smile, saw off their pokers to make her laugh. Charging mad toward the bow-strung walls to see her closer, charging mad out of camp chasing her mirage in the rain.
Oh I'm sure half of our wasted seeds: a coming generation of Greece, were squeezed in her name.
It was our impotent prayer, fanning our sapping devotion wailing toward the decider of fates, and that little cunt Cupid. Ten years we slept happy, but woke sad, broken, cursing our empty bedside, vanishing dreams, and our crown-less head.
Until one day Troy burned and that King of Sparta-
Pat on the Boss's shoulders and strode off like a proud horse merchant, without her.
I think I liked Boss a lot more before that scene.
Sure Boss made me a Somebody, more than I ever got at home. He saw whatever was in me and let me in. Boss was deep, Boss can fight, and I thought one day I might get what he saw and just...Be. Followed Him, Served Him, waded beside Him through a thousand Trojans...wouldn't have any other way.
Still...
She was wild, a spellbinding primal fox, only half woman, and she was...His.
and I envied Him from a distance of one rank, two promotions, ten scars, and seven years. He was the Boss, and there's...nothing to change that. Though we'll bleed out soon, or die marching back home, we forgot all such bullshit. We were crazy like sad yelping pups.
It was the mightiest privilege to tame a queen-
A Queen pink and glowing in fear and foreplay.
Boss smiled, “Give me ten days, lads” then threw her in his tent.
Ten days! Ten, days! our thrilled souls echoed. Our legs itched as we patrolled, shook with craving.
All of our years seemed to slid off, all the faces we killed, all wives betrayed a forgotten past.
We chanted orgy in the summer wind, listened to the fierce slapping of her hips-
The tenth day, he gave her up, half- a tired beast, half a purring God.
And we understood we were fooled.
He smiled and lifted out her tattered royal hair,
the face was blotched and slick with rot, her eyes were pockets of milk colored grime.
Her bleached pupils piss-brown. No joy left in them, no happiness, no memories, the color of summer mud. A lazy breeze carried her sweet ungodly stench...slimy grubs and unseen slugs rode through the broken canvas of her face, clamored in her mouth. A bitter trace from what she used to be, now a cesspool of vermins.
The flaps of his tent blew open,
Like an explosion her neck greeted us, still raged with fever of desire, bubbled with fire. Her soiled body and painted nails, her stiff and protesting limbs, her sticky hands and feet all ranked with sweat, Her soiled limbs drenched with poisonous dew. Her smooth calf drunken-like, still twisted in an exotic pose. A ring of worms sucked on her exposed shame, continued to taste her flowing excitement, besieged her humbled thighs and sent vague shivers of death, alive despite undone by her slain face. The pink flesh of her ruined hips murmured a faint hiss, and before our eyes unleashed the filth of his passion.
For an hour the seeds of their vices sprang.
Her spoiled face simmered in the sultry steam, face boiled like ravished papers.
We stood there, like ancient idols, listened to her rustle, breathed raw hell and lust that is this woman
Boss smiled with grim satisfaction,
Tilted his gilded goblet at her blue face, sloshed the amber liquid as weight of his years slid off and spattered on the burning sand. As if fueled by an miracle of courtesy, her sick amethyst lips parted, and ten days of seeds exchanged poured like a vile stream.
“Filthy animal,” he teased, and blew a kiss on her cracking lips.
“I could look at you for years”
We stood there, like ancient idols, soon to be devoured by time
listened to her rustle, breathed raw hell and lust that burned that moment
We attacked him and attacked the worms, and ate all in jealous unison.
~
All I'm saying is that you don't know half of it.
All of you still repeat the pretty lies the slippery poets spat in your heads.
It wasn't like that.
I was there, the best of Greece were there; Troy burned in our eyes:
And the King of Sparta did not leave with his pretty Queen: the shame of Greece. The Queen of filth.
He just...pat on the Boss's shoulders and strode off like a proud horse merchant.
Yeah I remember her, those fucking...blinding locks,
Half the army once thought she was blonde, the other thought she was red, we fought, died and I still don't remember. And her eyes, witching eyes, neither wholly blue or gray, but dancing clouds of colors. Never a deadlier weapon. I've known lads who'd cut out their guts out to make her smile, saw off their pokers to make her laugh. Charging mad toward the bow-strung walls to see her closer, charging mad out of camp chasing her mirage in the rain.
Oh I'm sure half of our wasted seeds: a coming generation of Greece, were squeezed in her name.
It was our impotent prayer, fanning our sapping devotion wailing toward the decider of fates, and that little cunt Cupid. Ten years we slept happy, but woke sad, broken, cursing our empty bedside, vanishing dreams, and our crown-less head.
Until one day Troy burned and that King of Sparta-
Pat on the Boss's shoulders and strode off like a proud horse merchant, without her.
I think I liked Boss a lot more before that scene.
Sure Boss made me a Somebody, more than I ever got at home. He saw whatever was in me and let me in. Boss was deep, Boss can fight, and I thought one day I might get what he saw and just...Be. Followed Him, Served Him, waded beside Him through a thousand Trojans...wouldn't have any other way.
Still...
She was wild, a spellbinding primal fox, only half woman, and she was...His.
and I envied Him from a distance of one rank, two promotions, ten scars, and seven years. He was the Boss, and there's...nothing to change that. Though we'll bleed out soon, or die marching back home, we forgot all such bullshit. We were crazy like sad yelping pups.
It was the mightiest privilege to tame a queen-
A Queen pink and glowing in fear and foreplay.
Boss smiled, “Give me ten days, lads” then threw her in his tent.
Ten days! Ten, days! our thrilled souls echoed. Our legs itched as we patrolled, shook with craving.
All of our years seemed to slid off, all the faces we killed, all wives betrayed a forgotten past.
We chanted orgy in the summer wind, listened to the fierce slapping of her hips-
The tenth day, he gave her up, half- a tired beast, half a purring God.
And we understood we were fooled.
He smiled and lifted out her tattered royal hair,
the face was blotched and slick with rot, her eyes were pockets of milk colored grime.
Her bleached pupils piss-brown. No joy left in them, no happiness, no memories, the color of summer mud. A lazy breeze carried her sweet ungodly stench...slimy grubs and unseen slugs rode through the broken canvas of her face, clamored in her mouth. A bitter trace from what she used to be, now a cesspool of vermins.
The flaps of his tent blew open,
Like an explosion her neck greeted us, still raged with fever of desire, bubbled with fire. Her soiled body and painted nails, her stiff and protesting limbs, her sticky hands and feet all ranked with sweat, Her soiled limbs drenched with poisonous dew. Her smooth calf drunken-like, still twisted in an exotic pose. A ring of worms sucked on her exposed shame, continued to taste her flowing excitement, besieged her humbled thighs and sent vague shivers of death, alive despite undone by her slain face. The pink flesh of her ruined hips murmured a faint hiss, and before our eyes unleashed the filth of his passion.
For an hour the seeds of their vices sprang.
Her spoiled face simmered in the sultry steam, face boiled like ravished papers.
We stood there, like ancient idols, listened to her rustle, breathed raw hell and lust that is this woman
Boss smiled with grim satisfaction,
Tilted his gilded goblet at her blue face, sloshed the amber liquid as weight of his years slid off and spattered on the burning sand. As if fueled by an miracle of courtesy, her sick amethyst lips parted, and ten days of seeds exchanged poured like a vile stream.
“Filthy animal,” he teased, and blew a kiss on her cracking lips.
“I could look at you for years”
We stood there, like ancient idols, soon to be devoured by time
listened to her rustle, breathed raw hell and lust that burned that moment
We attacked him and attacked the worms, and ate all in jealous unison.
~
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