Spit and washed on the legacy of thrones,
In tints and shades never meant to gift bone
With careful precision, the stitches sewn
On volts and currents a daughter is born.
A mutual melody pressed against the lips and given spark
Straight cut lines like the tips of razors, drawn
Conjectures are drawn
Soul raped, yet beautiful
Ogled, on floors once touched by sovereigns,
In tints and shades never meant to gift skin
Draped in gray movement, flaws her only kin
The wrapping of this gift, she registers as pain.
A mutual melody pressed against the lips and given scorn
Straight cut lines to the veins of her heart are drawn
Conclusions are drawn
Hushed whispers scar