Daddy Debonnaire
Posted August 21, 2006
Okay, so this is sort of emo sounding, but it's just the logic I came to in a random burst of creativity... I channeled Sylvia Plath, her style, as seen in "Tulips." Loosely based on someone I know, someone I know of, and my own devious inventions. Consider it a letter, if you will.
With esteem to Daddy Debonnaire.
You and I met under the haze of flourescent lighting and lace.
And now I watch you walk on.
Walk along.
I don't expect you to turn around.
Not because you're cruel or indifferent, just ignorant.
Or maybe clever enough to know that it would be fatal.
I am lead now.
Heavy and settled, yet amazingly fragile.
You've left your mark...
See! There's the impression from your lips on my skin.
You anointed me on the forehead, gave me the cross of scarlet irony.
Look at the hands that held you..warm still from that memory.
I don't expect an apology.
Explanations put me to sleep.
All I want is agknowledgement,
The grace, serenity only a 2 hour phone call can give.
Here in this shallow pit of elapsed time, I can't help but wonder:
When will this moment be but a vague memory,
Just like the ones you gave me to pore over again and again.
Just remember that day of infamy.
Keep that with you, and know that
Somehow or the other, you will always be the puppet master
And I... the star of the marionette parade.
Make me shine.
Make me sick.
Make me smile.
