Bluebeard’s Dead Little Dancer

I lay in your bed nightly, haunting your sleep as you feel

my breath forever with you.

Never to have another woman in your bed,

a tale that has been reversed

you have prevailed.

You admired my dances, from the audiences you awed, clapped and watched.

Capturing me with your heart I was yours forever to keep.

My feet

always moving for you.

Your bloody chamber, your gallery closet with the key you gave.

I was not to open your past and the things I have been told,

I was not to trust what others were to say, they

were the keys dangling before me.

You gave me all the other keys, the things

for me to trust.

The clinking of voices was the curiosity that lead me to your locked door.

I snuck in hoping you wouldn’t notice.

I had to know what it was that you kept from me.

The jangling of the voices telling me to hack and see.

My inner death was the loss of you.

My real death was the passing

of time that you still long for.

I linger and hang around

hoping you will notice my presence.

Hoping you call out to me, the moment

you call back

I can return from my grave of silence

and dance

for my Bluebeard

and change our ending.


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