You
acted like you could be a grand duke
Or
next in line to be our new sovereign king
I
was just a number in your little black book
A
puppet you kept on a short gilded string
A
god you were, seated regally on your throne
Evaluating
all the girls in your secret harem
Scrutinizing
the chattel you could call your own
How
many women have surrendered to you?
Enraptured
between your black satin sheets
Gladly
relinquishing their chaste virtue
As
the wolf eagerly devoured the sheep
You
repulse me even more than myself
Obscene
in your shameless arrogance
I
will not be used and put away on a shelf
This
cock has called out its final crow
Hanged
from your own gilded twine
I
have become your most formidable foe
And
I'm afraid this moment is mine
Always
fed from a spoon made of silver
must've
been shocked then to eat off the floor
Ha,
I had carved out and served you your liver
Did
I hear you begging me for more?
Perhaps
those sheets did serve me well
After
I'd placed all your pieces on the bed
Your
own passions had delivered your hell
Upon
black satin sheets splattered with red
There
really isn't anything like having your way
And
walking away with your fifteen seconds of glory
I
became of part of history on that fateful day
And
the author of my own bedtime story
M TERESA CLAYTON
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