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 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.
.
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.