Pocketbook

CW: Readers sensitive to various dark topics should proceed with caution.

My mom always told me

To be careful.

To watch where I flee,

And to always be fearful.

For wherever I go,

And wherever I look,

Wherever there’s woe,

He’s there with his pocketbook.

He writes down all the girls:

Make sure they’re alone.

To collect them like pearls—

Make them his own.

Always on the lookout

For a sheepish little rose;

Whenever there’s doubt,

He asks her to pose.

“Try this blood lipstick,”

“This dress fits so nicely!”

Make her amnestic,

Then asks nonchalantly:

If she’ll stay the night,

If she’ll follow him,

If she’ll comply until daylight,

If she’ll remain dim.

But it’s all a ruse,

All a façade.

He’ll give you the booze,

And fix what is flawed.

But after a while,

Whenever she’s calm,

His dark claws and smile,

A pray and a psalm.

He kisses her soul out,

And makes it a prison.

No possible breakout,

The pain has arisen.

Then crosses her name,

Out from his pocketbook.

For him, it’s a game

For her, she lost what he took.

Never the same,

Never again—

Oh, what a shame,

She’s now in a chain.

The demon is always lurking,

With his hooves and his tail,

A prey’s got him smirking.

An escape to no avail.