Do you Harley promise to side by your
future partner in crime,
to always have the TNT ready and primed
and always through thick,
thin or the annoyance of Batman assist in
burning this city down?
*I DO, Puddin'*, Harley says slightly
buckling her knees a bit and obviously
crossing her fingers behind her back. She
says so with a slight
almost child like giggle and bright doe
eyes.
Do you Joker promise to not kill any
elected officials without the assistance
of your beloved wife, to make her laugh
from ear to ear and break her out in
the most comically violent fashion from
any institute she gets stuck in?
* I DoooooOOO, Sugar puss*, The Joker
responds with a devil like grind,
he too also has his fingers crossed
behind his back in their typical fiendish fashion.
Well with the powers that be, I pronounce
you prince clown of crime
and you Harlequin Jezebel forever
intertwined in chaotic love that you called
marriage.
Explosions fill the room, blocking off
all the exits, poison like gas fills the rooms,
rising from pipes in the floor. The Joker
and Harley reach into their wedding cake,
and remove two military issued gas masks.
They cover them up, but not before
The Joker picks the priest up from the
floor who is still gasping for air.
"Thank you kind sir, its been a
RIOT!" HAHAHAHA..
In which he than snaps his neck, and
carries Harley out through a drop in the floor.
People fall to the ground dying from the
fumes,
the disco ball in the center of the room
implodes raining joker cards throughout the room.
A marriage made in
hell.
I am not a
graceful person.
I am not a Sunday morning
or Friday sunset.
I am a Tuesday 2am,
I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks,
I am a broken window during
February.
My bones crack on a nightly
basis.
I fall from elegance with a dull thud,
and I apologize for my awkward sadness.
I sometimes
believe that I don’t
belong around people,
that
I belong
to all the leap days that
didnt happen.
The way the light and darkness mix
under my skin has become a
storm.
You don’t see the lightning,
but you hear the
echoes.
I want you to miss me. I want you to
recognize me in your morning cereal and the voice of your
favorite singer. I want you to wonder where I am when your
fingers are stretched beneath your waistband, when you’re
lighting up, when you’re tripping up the uneven step on
your basement stairs. I want you to think of me when you look
into your teacup and your rearview
mirror.