I am more than flesh and bone,
DNA whispers like a throne,
where I existed before
Black Dahlia's shadow was known.
.
She's my human mother's guise, haunted eyes,
a token of disgrace, no grace.
She is where waste defies,
what makes a human pantomime.
I pry my golden locket wide,
Mother's smile resides,
radiant masks where rot hides.
.
Her human disguise
is blonde hair and blue eyes,
Once she wore Southern Belle extensions
Cadaverous paleness frosts her soul's depression.
.
Her hyms to religious throngs
are turned away,
She is a mere shadow
of the woman the demons tweak
A wounded woman
who no longer squeaks.
.
She is a mere mime
that grits her teeth
through her human disguise.
A living mime, a shadowed play,
moving through the world in grisly sway.
.
The locket makes her smile shine,
There, the house that she called "mine,"
Now taken, forsaken, sold, and mistaken.
The locket hides the full decay
of haunted rooms where spirits lay.
She is just a bedridden girl
who lays in her filth.
.
She's just a lonely, bedridden girl
whose children are just petals she repels,
whose human disguise dances her lines
and plays the scene as her emotional mime.
.
Her disguse is sweet like wine
yet what's behind is bitter as lime,
sinister and cynical is her name
the master has tamed and mamed a dame,
The locket is forgetting her name!
Her human guise is a puppet torn,
it's forever worn;
a life reduced; now she's a mime the disguise, a pantomime ----
all she's known for in this lifetime.