my morning psychosis

is a vision of honeyed madonna:

two perfect drops of hyaluronic acid

resemble marbled wax rolling down

my rose-slumber cheeks,

pornographic tears to the renaissance man,

salt pearls from narcissus's pool.

oriental brown, bloodshot, wide like a doe --

the male voyeur reels in my brain,

his loins writhing,

ropes of pink tissue coiling like snakes,

threatening to burst from my skull

and reveal hibernating medusa.

the swelling strokes and secretes dopamine,

the secret of my imprisonment --

addiction to that which hollows me.

i feel my womb ripening

knowing the men of the world

want to eat me raw.

these days no one is a virgin anymore

but my blood spilled will persuade them otherwise,

and appease like ritual sacrifice.

i hide my manic cranium

underneath a diadem of feathered ebony hair,

my feline teeth behind pillow-soft lips.

i surrender to him

the nudity of my name

in his phantom mouth.

kneeling, lips parted, palms pressed in prayer: i am orphic beauty, an offering, a spoil of many wars.

he ravishes me, and i let him.

tomorrow i will wake

and do it all over again,

this miraculous disguise,

this modern penance.

mirror glass ripples like water under the flickering fluorescents --

i couldn't afford last month's electricity bill --

and i wonder how long before

the men drown me for my witchcraft;

how long before they realise

i am just another young and beautiful whore, pregnant --

not with any sons in my medicated womb

but ancient angels and monsters

sprouting in my small, pretty head.

if i can prove i see like a man,

if i can show them i punish myself,

maybe they will show me mercy.

maybe they will kiss my temple

and call me a mother of god.