Confessions of a Poetess: My very own Jack the Ripper

Confessions of a Poetess:

My very own Jack the Ripper

Across the room he unfolds the leather pouch. The blades gleam in the dampened fire light as the heavy air swells with fear and curiosity. I wonder if the flame will hold out much longer but I can tell he is ready to work with little aid. Cowering in the corner, I am small, not that I have ever been anything more.  There they lay, so close, glistening in their simplicity. The only complication is found in his crafted movements, in his unmatched art. The sharpest are double edged, slicing at his own sensitivities as they lash out at me. Throwing a few to test the swing, he misses, only scaring the tip of my ego.

Pulling them out one by one, I see my chance to stand and fight. Finding my feet numb, the sensation grows, spreading through my body as if the roots had taken and this new life feeds on me. Poisonous fear leaks from my belly and reaches its dirty fingers out to draw the numbness into the center of me. My guts begin wrenching me forward, begging to be ripped away.

His first true aim is on the mark and I stumble a bit, recovering with a few quick quips. He is amused, I can tell. His smirks apologize for the pain and I am drawn closer. He reaches to remove the dagger and with a hot kiss he twists it deeper. He draws our love now, in the hollows of my cheeks and down the thin skin of my neck. Our story carved into me, into the night, like brail for the broken hearted. Swirling lines of wishes, kisses and faint promises of ruin tattoo me. As my soul begins to weep from the wounds, I am reminded of that day long ago.

“I can only promise you two things, I will love you like no other, and you will die at my hand…you cannot have me.” whispering my words like throwing stars.

I am weak and he has found his chance to prove me wrong. You see I do love him like no other and I would have killed him but he has found a way to defeat me in this amour. Our gift is the same and I had no clue. This simple fate surrounds me now and I am found stranded. Small ticks and slits make their way to depths of me as the walls come tumbling. The burned rooms are left barren and exposed to the elements. Those silver words packed away in his leather pouch to protect their sharpened edges, have impaled me. Now I am left with little option. Inside this hollow cavity he has created, I find my heart. Black, bleeding, but still beating…

“It is yours, I have placed all that I have left in your hands…do what you will” words seep from me.

It is done, he has me…I am made a liar and he doesn’t even know it yet…

Oh but see, like you, I underestimated my dear Jack. He knows just what desolation he brings, and with a delighted grin he takes me. I hear his prose, like hot liquid in my naïve ear, as it swirls, dips and whorls, round and round like playground games. “So lovely, so willing, so sure…this is why I love you” His devilish breath reaching out and surrounding my neck, its fingers caressing and twisting into my hair. “Yes, please, struggle a little my darling, it only makes me want you more.” I hear a girl, deep moans escaping her tight throat. I am drunk on his sermon, like fine wine and I am made sure. She is slipping away, growing fainter by the moment. Oh my, such a lovely wet sound and I am comforted. Strange, beautiful warmth floods the core of me and I am satisfied.

It is quiet now, is he with me? Where did he go? Panic stricken, blindness lifting to a scene of total devastation. Silent screams build in my chest until…Ahhh, he speaks again and through the hot pain I hear him. “I am with you my love, sleep now. Let it grow.”

You see it was his words all along that ripped me to shreds and pieced my back together again. Those daggers, they are sculpted and I know not just for me. But I crave them, I beg for their beautiful pain.

And so the monster within, gives a happy growl…disaster has been fed. He plucked a feather from my back and on walls, burnt to black, he wrote in red.

With All My Love, To the Girl upon this Bed,

Jack