Searching for something different something rare

Through the catacombs of choice she finds it there

The jacket fit for a Black Jack King again

To wear when he comes again to reign.

She slips it on and it fits a treat

So sleek, tailored for a heart so weak

That cannot resist to temptation so bold

That over her psyche has a bondage hold.

The jacket is slim and suitably black

Over her shoulders it drapes with no lack

Of style and grace and O so great vigour

Of a gun that necessarily pulls the trigger

On the start of the treadmill down to doom

Fighting a love forgotten so soon.

Who is this Back Jack I see in the reflection

Of one so cool and calm – a recollection

Of one once loved but now so far way

A Black Jack King once more holds sway.

The jacket is torn and it’s decor is dim

Once worn brightly by the beautiful him

Who loved her so but now is gone

Into the depths of the great beyond.

Clinging to the Black she sees no hope

The tears and regrets in her heart do choke

The passionate love they once did share

Leaving her neglected, abused and bare.

Peeling off the wretched choice

Raising up a woman’s voice

To salve the pain and slake the blood

Pointing always to a hearts full flood…