I sit, quietly, in fetal,
Hiding behind my mask of words,
A well decorated cache,
To keep you enticed,
But not enough to stimulate,
I’m afraid I can’t satisfy.
I don’t want you to find me,
I hide, silently, in fetal,
Little scratching imps, hoards,
Intent on keeping me flustered,
But I know.
In a child’s haunting voice,
Appearing to emerge from obscurity,
They can hear my evil taunt,
Now it’s my turn to fluster.
I know something you don’t.
Yes, scratch away little imps,
For once your bellies are burst,
Once your eyeballs scathe in hateful glee,
Once your breaths reach their putrid peak;
And are no more,
Oh once your verminate phallus has penetrated my flesh,
I will speak to you in tongues foreign,
And in my embrace,
In the passion of my will,
You will sear to anonymity,
With the phoenix,
I shall dance.
Taidi is an ardent blogger who loves all things poetry. for more of her poems, visit her site