Slow Play

By Cyril Joseph

You can paint over blood all you want,

But you won't forget how it sprayed.

You can wash your hands over and over,

But your sins, they're forever stained.

Just like that, you were demystified,

And I had to learn to accept you.

You were regular, an oddity I built up in my head,

With nothing all that magical about you.

As you lay helpless, peeled to your bones,

No more secrets, dreary almost.

With a heavy heart and a heavier soul,

I sculpted you into a crimson ghost.

You were human, just flesh, hair and blood,

Exposed for everything that you were.

With a heavy hand and an aching head,

I smudged you into an ever-dwindling blur.

You would never be what we wanted,

But we were hopeful nonetheless.

So you let me cut deep and dig inside,

But you came up empty, a mask in a scarlet dress.

Now I don't know how to put you back together,

We mangled too much along the way.

So I'll leave you here to collect yourself,

This was fun, your idea of slow play.

By Cyril Joseph