26 June 2012
We're all in our private traps And none of us break free, We claw and scratch but only at The air and you and me. Some are born into theirs, The bonds around their feet, Others stumble down a road And their little fate they meet. I'm born into mine, The madness that surrounds, The tears and smiles and cruel stares, The horrible manic sounds. Just me and my mother, Two yet one, the same, Wigs and pretty dresses, A sensitive two-way game. I'm as passive as my little birds Stuffed upon the wall, And my mother wouldn't hurt a fly. If you watched you'd see it all. But the two of us combined Are quite a little team. Are you scared? Intrigued? Like Marianne will you scream? See mother's a jealous woman; Possessive, clingy, smart And when I want another That's when she begins to start. We all go a little mad sometimes, Haven't you ever been? Haven't you imagined butcher's knives And gory midnight scenes? People say we should lock her away But she's only mad sometimes, Most times we can keep her stowed In the dingy fruit cellar climes. They always flick their delicate tongues And offer hollow relief. But no, that's never ever enough For some poor soul like me. No, I need something better To hide my skeletons, The charming flash of a crazed grin, A look that tells you tonnes. So while you all scratch at your traps, The chords round ankles and wrists, I'll just slide further into mine. I shan't be sorely missed.
Inspired by Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.
©Delilah
Norman • Opuss № I