The Red Temptress
Music, the feminine, is a monster.
Born of my fantasy, she is my lover
Her scant figure bears the weight of a simple black dress.
And a ferocious temper complimented beautifully by acne-scarred skin.
She carries her knife with her always,
And every night, in my sleep…she guts me,
Tears me, limb from limb, bathing me in excruciating pain,
And to fully sate her sadistic desires,
Does not deign to leave even a scar marking her presence.
Ah! The red temptress whose pull I cannot resist.
She, with her blood smeared hands, crooked smile, and vengeful eyes…
I, with dead eyes…a sullen, drawn face…and bruises hidden beneath dead skin
A perfect couple we could be, I think, if she were not out to kill me
I will forever make love to her, day and night,
But she will never surrender to me the children I desire
I am, her lovesick and earthbound slave.
She is my depression, my unhappiness, my misery…
The creator, of all my troubles and complexities.
A stranger will recommend me now, at once,
To expel her from my life, and live in peace,
But he can never know,
That she is also my smile, my soul,
My mother, my keeper,
My ethereal lover...
Most important of all, the strangers tell me, she is my will to live.
I must choose either my cruel and domineering mistress…or death.
Food, sleep, people, air, body…What are they, compared to her?
Nothing! Insignificant specs! They are naught, but
Ghosts of a material world, that I am only too eager to leave behind,
But her, I must have; at any cost, at all risk.
She is my goal, my testament to life, my answer to death
Her, I must have…
I am tied down,
With the concrete promise; A brutal and savage future,
In the form of her unadorned lips,
Waiting for an answer, hovering before my face.
And I lean forward,
Thing, stranger’s choice be damned!
Through the haze of pain,
I love her too much,
I have no choice, none,
But to stay.
An explanation (of sorts)
On a base level, this poem represents my struggle with passion...with my muse, and my music.
I don't really feel like explaining much. I would prefer my message to be “buried." I’d like the reader to be able to recognize themselves the importance of it. I feel like what I'm saying is something important, but I don’t want to shout it out for the world. If someone wants to know, they can read it and say “Hey, this is what he’s talking about in that poem.” That’s much more impressive and flattering, to me, than just having them acknowledge it. My hope, my dream, my fantasy is that the reader be able to extract this meaning through identifying themselves with the poem. I guess you could say I want this to be a poem written by a desperate musician, for other desperate musicians to recognize.