Walking on Black Ice






Walking on black ice in heels
Barely got the guts to spill
Pleasure is to pleasure kill
My steel is offered, take thy fill
Still need me to spell out further
This could end in bloody murder


Further to last correspondence
Time has come for you to grow despondent
Feel the air about you thicken
Feel the pulse within you quicken
As you play the chilling part of most unwilling victim
Trapped within perpetually spinning blackened prism


Nothing cryptic in this verse
This is indeed a shovel and this is my vintage hearse
The only thing that’s yours is self-proclaimed immortal curse
For not but one thing better and a smorgasbord of worse
The more you play your wicked game
The less that this becomes hard work
Nothing cryptic in this verse
I will end you
Won’t be pretty, mark my words


Walking on black ice in heels
Blinkered view to your own kill
My length of rope your guts to spill
My casting vote your bludgeoned will
Best of luck on swallowing this jagged little pill
Still need me to spell out further
This could end in bloody murder


Do you possess very faintest idea who you’re messing with here
The punishment for what you do is ever so severe
Ever tried to force a smile when opened up from ear to ear with shard of broken glass
I’ll even snap a photograph to make the moment last
Just to pin it to your final gasp


Further to previous correspondence
You have persisted in weaving your web forged of secrets and lies
Unaware of just who it is snagged up inside like a fly
Then along came a spider, said spider yours truly
Your best attempts to fool me, my gossamer to spin
Your weak attempts to sin, my just cause to get unruly


Learn to know your foe and do so prior to engagement
Discern when you are some way from your depth
You may appreciate your magick, though I very much doubt it
As your grade school exploits leave me wholly unimpressed
Best foot forward, two steps back
Like insect beneath glass you’re trapped
All alone in moonlit rape seed, painted face about to crack
Not the master of thine fate as such I plan exact
Cutting a length of intestinal slack to thread your skullcap as those figurine peepers fall back


Walking on black ice in heels
Can you feel it cracking in your wake
Feel my black eyes tracking every single move you make
Only got one point to prove
My blood lust glares at none but you
Still need me to spell out further
This could end in bloody murder





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill





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© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™





  1. I could have cherrypicked the entire thing. But I liked this….
    Shook with thrift, vigor shown, Mouse’s fuse swiftly blown,
    What good is a mouse Party, if attended alone,

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