The music swells again.
Laughter resumes as if nothing happened.
Masks shine brighter than before.
No one seems tired.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Every time Jezebel tries to reach me in my dreams,
I awaken and hold onto my blessed rosary.
.
I am just the viewer,
Observing through a ghostly mirror.
Jezebel lingers abound
She is the greyhound.
.
Though, one part is true
Jezebel cannot enter my room,
I reject her sentiments,
She cannot stand my confidence.
.
The space where she resides,
is a purgatory made by humankind,
mother cannot blame her pantomime
she must endure her measured time,
and see that life supersedes death
The cadavers smell like insects.
.
Jezebel cannot say that "she is mine,"
"The Pagan Daughter, when will she serve time?"
The Black Dahlia's not my mother
just the body of a runner.
.
The Seed is her disease,
and it's won her identity,
that doesn't mean that it controls me,
I run my own team.
.
Since everyone claims they know me well,
surely you'll decide who I must sell:
the gentle one, the steadfast aid,
the loyal girl who never strays—
present and forever kind,
even when my mother leaves me behind.
.
Now, I reject her offer
because her love is a performance
for the stage that she plays as a conformance.
.
Jezebel has found her human disguise,
Her pantomime,
Jezebel creeps along the halls
And laughs among the walls,
etched words that showcase mother's akin
negative adjectives that place her skin
to the room of plagued ends
where mother will never hear herself again.
.
I remain the viewer,
watching through the ghostly mirror.
Jezebel lingers abound
Still that circling greyhound.
.
Jezebel hates my confidence and my support,
I am not a lamb that she and mother can torch.
Jezebel has found her fallen prize,
her pantomime,
who will forever be a ghost at her side.