Her Poker Face<\/p>\n
Dyer-Bolique drags the pickled remains to the alter,
\nAnd carves the marinaded meat,
\nWithout hesitation, without consideration,
\nFrozen in the realms of a psychopath.<\/p>\n
Observing, an internal alarm creeps over my mind,
\nTarnished by his researched request,
\nSo alike in thought and deed that he anticipated my every move,
\nAnd forced the Blackjack into my shaking palm.<\/p>\n
Tender slices fall from nostalgia\u2019s thundery storm,
\nBagged and stored in ice, as the remains catch fire,
\nFuel and food, such hollow words from my own being.
\nDyer-Bolique in name, diabolique in nature.<\/p>\n
Our abode heats up furiously, fueled by his anhedonia,
\nTrapped like a rabbit forced between the headlights,
\nI acquiesce in deed, though my mind cries from its depths.
\nThe call is made, my brother comes.<\/p>\n
Jon, the younger cherub, in youth under my protection,
\nUnable to envisage any harm upon him, his big sister.
\nI see the child engaging me through adult eyes, pleased.
\nSmall talk persists as HE looks on, growing ever impatient.<\/p>\n
At length, caught in my own trap, I lead him into the abyss,
\nThe sickle awaits, lurching on the shelves, just as Dyer-Bolique planned.<\/p>\n
Mind\u2019s eye opens to the image of his demise,
\nA slit to the throat, gaping wound,
\nHis head tips back, cries stifled,
\nBlood pours relentlessly,
\nGuilt enshrouds.<\/p>\n
Mind\u2019s eye opens to the image of his demise,
\nThe child, not the man, adoring,
\nUnable to comprehend,
\nUnaware of my ego,
\nGuilt enshrouds.<\/p>\n
Dyer-Bolique redirects my dear brother, quick decoy,
\nAnd surreptitiously forces the sickle in my hand.
\nDyer-Bolique smirks with utmost cruelty,
\nAroused by owning the winning hand.<\/p>\n
Ice flows through my veins, and steams,
\nConflict causes a quivering,
\nSickle drops,
\nHe wins.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Her Poker Face Dyer-Bolique drags the pickled remains to the alter, And carves the marinaded meat, Without hesitation, without consideration, Frozen in the realms of a psychopath. Observing, an internal alarm creeps over my mind, Tarnished by his researched request, So alike in thought and…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":278,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-98471","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/98471","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/278"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=98471"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/98471\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":99343,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/98471\/revisions\/99343"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=98471"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=98471"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=98471"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}