Kate, the Cursed
It's a shame, they said, How the amber from her cigarette now burns brighter than the fire she carries within her.
She was once Kate, they quipped, Kate, the Wicked; Kate, the Cursed; Kate, the Shrew; Now, she is just Kate.
However, I fear waves crash behind this woman's eyes, and when she finds herself again, we all shall pay.
And so, Bianca took a shotgun to her sister while she heated up a microwave dinner for the man who tamed her. And when the man who tamed her threw Kate's torn up body out to sea and found a new fire to fuck and put out, Bianca found her sister's scattered pieces on an ocean floor, and scotch taped her back together. All fragments of Kate were recovered with the exception of her heart.
Perhaps, thought Bianca, this is a blessing. After all, it was her heart that led her astray to begin with.
This is how Kate walked, for six days and seven nights. Once the formidable bride of Petruchio, she was now the Post Modern bride of Frankenstein, stitched together with school supplies. Her life became a talk show. She lived in green rooms & smiled when she was told to smile & applauded when the signs telling her to do so lit up & charmed the press in the wake of wicked blowing in. Hurricanes blew in the fleshy hole that once held her beating heart, a mixture of cold and warm fronts in a space now consumed only by air, where fronts are oft born.
Have you seen Petruchio's latest piece of ass? a man at a bar asked his comrade. She was a stripper before he found her. A young black girl addicted to white clouds until the cold man gave her a warm place to stay. She is a fine piece of ass, the man explained, but she's no Kate.
And she isn't
Kate is coming after you Petruchio