Rigid, my mind
Tight fastened in thought
Alone, save the loudest
Of volumes you sought;
A rhythm surrounds me:
The beat never stops.
My wrist – ever pounding
Sleeve dripping, nonstop.
These sounds are resources
You’ll never see bought –
So rare, and so special
Yet, mine? They are not.
“Gems?” You do ponder,
As pure as could be.
You hear not this beating?
Live hearts seal my sleeve!
I gathered each one
From men and from lovers
Then, left them undone
To never recover
These hearts I collect
As one might a stamp,
Each choking my wrist;
All broken and damp
As wet hearts do bleed
Each torn from one’s chest
The blood, you’ll not see
It’s ink they express!
“Now, why not your own?”
You wonder, distressed
But my chest is empty:
Forlorn, dispossessed.
My heart is no more –
I searched sea to see.
“How so?” You deplore.
‘Twas taken from me!
In place of a heart
I now hold a pen;
I’ll never be whole –
Likewise to all them:
I **** all these lovers
Must spare not these men
For one sole ingredient
Will satisfy pen.
Such hearts I do mention
Once, twice, and again
Draw ribbons of ink,
Gliding fresh to my pen
Rigid, your mind
Interrupting my thoughts
Becoming the loudest
Of volumes not sought
“Release and replace!”
A mere noise; you infest;
Oh, leave me alone,
Or your heart will be next!
Tales of a succubus: the cycle of abuse, as told by the perpetrator.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
