I slipped keenly into bright ashes

As you cried your Heart out

Yes, I knew you were dying,

I shouldn’t have picked your last call.

Darling, I’ve had to kill you

Like you Killed me when you said

That you had already died when

That devil ate your body parts – one at a time;

So you had to eat mine

To bring yourself back to life.

You said, you wished to compensate,

That your love is something I should believe

That my kiss took you to heavens,

To the moon where we used to sleep;

On days we would caress each other

The nights did not arrive

We loved like birds, like frogs, like piglets

Oh, your skin used to burn mine

As though I was set aflame;

None of that matters now, I am afraid.

Darling, you’d always scared me

With your hourglass body, your gobbledygook,

And your rosy lips

And your gray eyes, like stormy skies;

You sure had a mystery, hadn’t you?

You’re not Aphrodite but Hecate,

And I couldn’t tell the difference,

You were a rose in the face,

You’d thorns in the heart

And I thought you were a work of art.

You lay naked in my bed

In the picture I had of you –

Skin soft as sad music,

Eyes dark as the yawning grave,

But no less the brutal witch who

Tore my heart into two.

We were fifteen when you set my lust ablaze

At eighteen, you tried killing yourself.

You killed me too, along the way

By unfolding your history.

You stole my bricks to build our home

And kicked me out when it was done;

You welcomed another devil who

looked just like the old one.

But somehow, I got out the gutter

And I well knew what I’d to do;

I pictured every woman like you –

The dark-eyed woman with an innocent look.

Your love was out of the garbage pile

And I kept loving you with a smile.

But darling, the show is out now

We know it wasn’t worthwhile.

Darling, you have killed a pilgrim

And I’ve fed a witch –

The witch who drank my blood for four years

and sucked my lips dry,

and robbed me of my brains and wits.

Your black heart has holes everywhere

The prophets always hated you

They are spitting on your picture now,

They knew you were the hullabaloo.

Darling, darling, you bastard

I promise I will get back to you.

(This imitation poem is inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Daddy")