The Magician’s Marionette

You reveler, do things in moderation; if the string of life is cut there is no retying it. ~ Yoruba Proverb

I was fooled by the
Most extraordinary man.
He sang hymns to the demons,
He composed poetry on a whim.

He spoke volumes to my silence,
As he captivated my heart.
And impregnated my being,
His seed my body.

Like Alice in Wonderland,
He led me on an adventure.
Satterfield, Satterfield,
My top hat magician.

But oh! You have learned.
What valuable lessons?
Yes, I have, I replied.
Never to trust in smoke
And mirrors;

Never to enjoy the fruits
Of love;
Never to rest squarely on
The shoulders of truth;
Never to enjoy the company
Of my dearest naivete.

Oh, how I mourned their loss,
Though never really a part of my history,
I had in fantasy constructed
Their constant company.

Now I must fashion others.
For in one day walked a demon,
Cloaked in angel’s clothes.

And like a human,
I took him to my breast,
And childless
I suckled him.

And afterward,
Like an old woman,
My breast worn flat,
Eviscerated from lack of sustenance,
My chest, its’ skin stretched taunt like
Mummy’s parchment.

He took his finger
Curled long with yellow
Nail,
And cut into my
Chest,
And removed my
Still,
Beating,
Heart.

I saw it happen.
I was alive.
I felt the pain.
I did not die.

Thus I sit,
On a lonely perch,
My pen, my blood,
My words, my ode,
To a demon in angel’s clothes.