《eidolon of helen》madonna in the mirror
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my morning psychosis
is a vision of honeyed madonna:
two perfect drops of hyaluronic acid
resemble marbled wax rolling down
my rose-slumber cheeks,
pornographic tears to the renaissance man,
salt pearls from narcissus's pool.
oriental brown, bloodshot, wide like a doe --
the male voyeur reels in my brain,
his loins writhing,
ropes of pink tissue coiling like snakes,
threatening to burst from my skull
and reveal hibernating medusa.
the swelling strokes and secretes dopamine,
the secret of my imprisonment --
addiction to that which hollows me.
i feel my womb ripening
knowing the men of the world
want to eat me raw.
these days no one is a virgin anymore
but my blood spilled will persuade them otherwise,
and appease like ritual sacrifice.
i hide my manic cranium
underneath a diadem of feathered ebony hair,
my feline teeth behind pillow-soft lips.
i surrender to him
the nudity of my name
in his phantom mouth.
kneeling, lips parted, palms pressed in prayer: i am orphic beauty, an offering, a spoil of many wars.
he ravishes me, and i let him.
tomorrow i will wake
and do it all over again,
this miraculous disguise,
this modern penance.
mirror glass ripples like water under the flickering fluorescents --
i couldn't afford last month's electricity bill --
and i wonder how long before
the men drown me for my witchcraft;
how long before they realise
i am just another young and beautiful whore, pregnant --
not with any sons in my medicated womb
but ancient angels and monsters
sprouting in my small, pretty head.
if i can prove i see like a man,
if i can show them i punish myself,
maybe they will show me mercy.
maybe they will kiss my temple
and call me a mother of god.
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