Work Text:
It does not do to dwell on dreams, my dear,
Is what you said to me that night you read
that damnéd nonsense book of plays and poems,
When my nightmares woke me, haunting, screaming
My deepest fears. You tried. It sucked. I raged.
I hated ev’ry word you spoke out loud,
The speech too fancy for my raggéd ear,
Reminding me of your privilege and my
Own inadequacy. I shoved you out
Instead of saying what I really sought,
Which was the simple comfort of your arms.
I would kill God to hear your voice again.
I have not believed in Her for decades
But tonight I pray for your return, Stede.
My love. The impossibility of
It does not deter my broken heart. I
Need you like the Kraken needs blood;
You would be ashaméd to see my face,
Mon’strous marks carved by soot, wounds in the place
Of the soft things you said I wore so well.
But I thought myself too damaged to see
You again as I was, which clearly was
Not what you sought. Did you seek this? The blood
I crave as the Kraken was ne’er yours, love.
Did you think I would want this, because of
Your betrayal? I confess, I thought of
Many ways to run you through—on the
Right side, through the most important bits, your
Heart impaled on my sword (is the heart on
The right, when it makes one feel so wrong?), cut
To pieces and served to your sorry crew
In pies. I remember that play well, the
Way you shuddered when reading the gory
Parts. How I wanted to rip those pages
Out so they could never scare you again.
Now I am the blood and guts you hide from.
The first time you left, when I sat at the
Dock for hours until the sky was purple
(It reminded me of that coat of yours,
Royalty stitched all over, and wastéd
On my inadequate form. I wanted
To skin myself with that damn snail fork
Until you touched me so gently, placed the
Only thing I had cared about before
You in a place of honor, like it was
Something, like I was Something, the rush of
That went to my head and I thought we were
Something—) I died a little but I found
A purpose. I went back to the start, to
The Revenge, the irony of which is
Not lost, even on me. I thought that I
Could prove myself, to myself and to you,
That I could be better. A broken vase
Fixéd with gold between the pointy bits;
But you were the gold, and you were gone, run
Away before I could cut you deeper
Than I already had. Devastated.
Heartbroken, that’s the word they used, whispered
Behind my back when they thought my sobs were
Too loud for me to hear them. That’s right, Stede,
The great Blackbeard cried for you. Did you
Cry for me too, that night you left? Fuck you.
And now I am spiraling into hell,
A whirlpool of my own sad making. The
Kraken rising from the depths to ensnare
And drown those who would stand in its way; Ed
Has been killed. You would not recognize me
Now. But now, it does not matter, because
You are dead too, and I will never see
That sweet sad look in your eyes, pity and
Adoration all in one, which I craved
And despised with my whole being. Your love
Was the softest thing I ever wore, and
It will never, ever be mine again.
It was so easy for you to let go.
Like breathing. Like buying a boat. The choice
To become the Gentleman Pirate and
Upend my life was nothing to you. Love
And life was nothing to you. You’ve left it
All, and we’re here to pick up our pieces,
Cutting ourselves on the edges, holding
On to any scrap of you no matter
How much it hurts. I must hold on, for
If I let go, love, all will fall; and the
Kraken—and Ed—will never rise again.
A gunshot would hurt less, taste sweeter than
The mem’ry of you, Stede Bonnet.