The curtain comes crashing down<\/p>\n
and there I am, ruby-footed and murderous,<\/p>\n
doing it all for the bloated shadow<\/p>\n
of a little man. How foolish I have been<\/p>\n
again and again, poppy-cocked<\/p>\n
and clumsy, letting the boom of a voice, the cast<\/p>\n
of a giant, tease me into storming<\/p>\n
the castle to take what I never lacked. What is<\/p>\n
more incarnadine: the glitter of these<\/p>\n
shoes or the myth of blood now on my hands.<\/p>\n
I look at the man and he looks back,<\/p>\n
the fury of being caught pinking his cheeks.<\/p>\n
I am not the heroine, and I know that<\/p>\n
too late. He has no power to give me, after all,<\/p>\n
the fading of his theatrics, and if he did,<\/p>\n
I understand he\u2019d keep it. We all fell for green,<\/p>\n
called it real. There\u2019s no place like money.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s no seduction like a beast of sewn-up skins,<\/p>\n
a cotton ball on fire, a thrown voice<\/p>\n
that tells us what we want to hear. Which of us<\/p>\n
escapes? He told the lie; I did the killing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am not the heroine, and I know that \/ too late. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":6726,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6723","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n