PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

(She drank from his chalice

a bittersweet aftertaste

a remembrance

transending into existence.)

They call it healing

lost in the trance 

meditation-

at a glance;

this tonic

the wickedmans' brew

sweet chocolate

to help you through

the tears to come

hypnotized

you stay in your place 

submitting, in the darkness you lay,

to the one domineering

making you the weak one, sneering.

This renassiance, each seance

was a trap lead to

the one who could rescue, protect,

expose, and victimize you, discrete

with his shamanic ways

and narcissistic toxicity, those wicked games he plays.

Rapunzel can't let her hair down,

Snow wont wake from her sleep,

Cinderella ran out of time and

Belle lives stuck with this Beast.

Drink from the chalice 

as you may

the big dogs bite less

their barks are all play;

and they'll bitch 

and they'll moan

with their huffing and puffing

and leaving you alone-

let alone,

without a heart to hold.

Paper thin and 

gone with the wind, this man

is at it again. 

Silence in town

women in dismay

something's gone wrong

this isn't the healing way.

A selfish game

sick seduction, you played

Little Red won't get lost

dead in the woods, she'll never lay

never again on such land,

never again, what such a man.

"Hey Big Bad Wolf.

Here I Am.

I've got your chalice

and I'm in a jam.

Let me tell you about this mess

let me tell you I just can't bear to stand-"

*hands over chalice*

"unless it's to the man

who took this chalice from my hand 

to show it's a safe sip, and say-"

"I'm the only man..."

stopped in his tracks-

choking on revenge

the potion was not a cure

instead, a poison, he's not sure

flows within him.

"You may have been the Big Bad Wolf but

My house is made of bricks, bitch.

You're going to just huff and puff and blow, again."