cleaverchris

The woman shrouded in a thousand eyes
whispered in what was almost a voice,
“To you, good sir, I do strongly advise:
Reconsider your unfortunate choice.”
“Take back your gold if you can, puny one!”
replied the filthy brute clutching her purse.
Then she struck with a glimmer in the sun,
her bow of metal, the Musician’s Curse.
The blade sang beautifully across his skin,
trailed by a melody of misery.
Gliding the bow along her violin,
she played his anguish ever so gently,
and bled out his red, saturated heart
as, note by note, she sliced his soul apart.