a singular act of barbarism
ends the long, horrific episode
of my adult life

I do not think it should take
a great detective to
deconstruct the scenario

a portraiture,
torn around the edges
with the evidence of a struggle

I will have been careful, of course
not to leave any epithelials of any kind
there will be no fingerprints

with which to give away
my identity
and thus, the game

additionally, the body will not
be displayed, though this is
primarily to avoid arousal

criminal pathologists, as I understand,
believe crime to be linked
with sexual fulfilment

a leftover scrap of
freudian psychology; seedling
in the hindbrain

there will be no mistakes, no
letters sent to taunt the authorities
no accomplices, and no clues

to create with such macabre detail
seemingly manifested from thin air, a scene
of ritualistic precision; the climax of horror

an incarnation of evil would leap
into the minds of whomsoever observes
my terrible beauty, my gift

as monstrous as pure, my love will inspire
through study: the want to replicate my design,
and thereby yolk the world with my shadow

in their need to understand this new reality
parallel to their own
they too will create fantasy

one that they will defend
even should they knowingly feed their newborns
to a hungry wolf, to think themselves sane.

flesh of my flesh, eternally yours

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.


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