Half-Magic
This is not easy, though it may appear to be. Tis all but an illusion, my friend.
I always come out whole in the end.
I am his business, his way of presentation. It is his doing and his undoing, I am. I know this, for he yearns to case me in rings of powdery smoke, echoing from the tips of my fingers to my elbows, circling, unbound, to engulf me in a wicked fog. Hoping to make me disappear.
But I always pop up in the crowd, smiling perlescently back at the stage.
Effortlessly, I have taken my head off for him; holding it out for all to see; a polite dip of the shoulder and a curve of the brow. How are you doing, mister? Don't pass out yet; the best part isn't here.
I hold court by the stage, mannequin still in a white dress while he throws himself into a sharks' den. I know that seems risky, but you don't see the safety pin on the back of his straight jacket; the one that releases him from the condemning arms; a razor blade, slicing his flesh, fresh and new. Red streaks our waters.
After, I will tend to him, even when he pushes me away. I will return with the scarf whirled around my neck, used to soak up quarter-sized dots of blood.
He will push me away, but I will press myself to him; I can be the whore, I can be the mother, and I will damned well be both if I please.
But he would love to just saw me in half. Disembody me so that I won't have a thought left in my head.
There's a trick that we do where I have to crawl under water, through grey hoops, like forgotten walebones, over broken glass, to reach him. That's his favorite; me on my knees, begging for mercy.
And there's disappointment when I rise and walk away.
But I'm still the mistress beside the curtain; pointing him out to the world. Isn't he lovely? And I'm fucking him!
Under the games, under the prettiness we present to the world, I think you all see the truth. If he had his magic wand, he'd puff me into non-existence.
But all he has are his words.
"Fuck YOU, Lita." He snaps.
No, Matt, fuck you. Fuck you and this soul-less state of non-existence we're living in, like black circles of water.
They're rising for us.
And it's not an illusion.