Poet #Eighteen

Bloody Mary


It was no blessing.
Perched on a window ledge, an angel came to me in the night.
His Razor blade wings cut through the air and sent nothing but winter my way.
I gasped, wordlessly asking what he wanted with me?
I felt the sudden bleak urge for confessing.

“ Mary you have been chosen” He says with a flourish.
My Suspicious eyes say “ so you come to me as an incubus.”
And he spurns like any other man.
I've heard enough now.
I whisper low “ Your thoughts, your intentions do not nourish!”

He leaps from the ledge and leans over my bed.
He pleads with his eyes and beckons with his restless hands.
But pity is no shackle for me.
“Mary you will be a sacred vessel and adorned with only the holiest of light"
I shake my head and suddenly my body is reduced to cold lead.

“ I will not! I will not!” I wiggle and wail.
But still he rapes me with god's will.
His eyes are carved and left hollow.
I cringe into my pillow .
Then he leaves me alone, shrivelled and frail.

Who will believe me?
Not my husband.
He wrote letters in my flesh.
As I watch myself bleed I wonder how it would feel to bleed a little more.
I think I would feel free.

I feel no symbiotic love, this child is a parasite.
I hate what it is.
My stomach swells and I try to push it back down.
I sure don't feel embellished or adorned.
Angel are you afraid I just might...

It was just a thought, until my baby finger twitched.
I can't take their gossiping eyes.
A mistress, a wife without love's devotion
Something in me sweetly came unhitched.

I took a blade to my birthing bed.
I traced his name in my flesh.
From a crimson cross blood spilled out on the sheets.
I sighed in heavenly release.
I cut through the weight on my body and the chains in my head.

I glanced down at his demon child.
It was to small to be all powerful and all knowing.
“ Babies shouldn't look like rubber” I pondered.
Then I gently laid him down to rest.
I felt suddenly less defiled.

I walked downstairs leaving a ribbon of red.
|“ Husband, my womb is cleansed!”
|The fool's mouth left gaping.
Then he bellows“ Women what have you done!”
|I sputter through the blood “ For my will I have bled!”

I couldn't live as his possession.
So I die as a saint of abortion.
Clouds flout over my eyes and I know it won't be long.
Please seal my eyes shut and call out for the priest.
Let their be the most glorious funeral procession.

The End

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