Appearing as a figment
of a daft imagination
The shadows slyly hid themselves
in spite of light’s seduction

A candlewick of hope became
a snare to catch my interest
It seems the dread I cultivated
bore some sense of purpose

Upon her head, a mark was placed
A tattoo of a hungry fly
Permanently feeding from the corner of her eye
Esculent by nature, she was driven by compulsion
Weak inside her flesh, swayed by popular opinions

For fetishes are fiendish things
Adorned with chains and leather slings
Which brings us to the (she) we knew
A personality split in two

It started when she turned the key
Stepping through a crimson door
A body that she recognized
Sprawled across the kitchen floor

Yes, daft imagination’s play
In retrospectives…come what may
The shadows are the same, you see
As death hides in periphery

Now silence flows on cue
Creates a dark, dramatic pause
In order to encapsulate
The blood we spill for vain applause

Conflagration in a word
The play’s the thing, it’s almost done
Burning in a mirror
To an audience of one

The continuity of a crime
Is horrible yet so sublime
Like cat-o-nine tales minus one
We kick the body just for fun

You see, it’s only memory
A nightmare in a dream
For faced with the reality
She found she could not scream

Something from her past, it seems
A seed of doubt, subliminal
Changed how we perceive the scene
The victim’s now the criminal

Lying on a satin stage
A spotlight blinds her eyes
Promising the world in waves
Hand between her thighs

Speaking lies in whispered winks
Confessions in a word
Ghosts surround a void of sound
When truth is seldom heard

As declaration’s die inside
When lips are tightly sewn
Her phantasms have disappeared
She’s once again, alone

TM DiSarro

©2024 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing
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