Mary Shelley’s Diary
8th july 1822.
I killed him.
He didn’t die a natural death like he wanted but he died making love.
Ah! I fulfilled his last wish.
Even broken in body as he is, no one can feel the joy my spirit feels. The starry sky, the moonless night overwhelms me for my HUSBAND IS DEAD.
He, celebrated “love poet” was a Bloody Rapscallion.
And I, a vampire.
Sucking that life out of him while giving that hickey on the neck was such orgasmic pleasure. He couldn’t satisfy me while he was alive, but he did while dying.. how I wish he was dead a few minutes later.
I, wanted to stab him in his heart and rip all those four chambers apart. Ha! Such a cake walk it would have been.
I wanted to be the fishwife instead to my sea otter husband.
As the clock strikes 12, when midnight comes, it brings all those spirits in that graveyard alive,
I dug his grave, tearing his flesh apart gently (with love like crimson blood) and suck all the blood left in his body for no rum would quench this thirst.
Pages in PB Shelley’s Diary fill themselves with crimson ink.
9th july 1822
Mary, my fishwife.
Naked she comes to my holy grave with her breasts shining bright in moonless night.
Her soft hands holding a bewitched dagger in a night as dark as those wishes in her eyes.
Mary’s heart was a dark deap ocean of cryptic conundrums.
That cold steel sharp edged dagger ripping my flesh apart.
My body didn’t feel a thing for she thought I was dead. But I am not.
My spirit still hovering around.
Oh my flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and whose love poisoned me.
Comes to me naked with wild eyes.
She stabbed my heart exactly four times, cutting out each chamber delicately and placing them in jars.
I killed her first beloved.
And she took her revenge.
How did she know? My spirit still wonders.
I stay here on this earth until Mary unites with me in Death.
A hickey had power to put me to sleep,
I’d embrace her in death and her soul shall weep.