She lived in the splendour of isolation.
Swathed in the harshness of velvet,
Her soul wrapped in gentle steel.
Served by many, touched by so few.
She sat secure on a perilous perch,
Created by those who adored Her.
Like an unwilling comet,
She dragged others into Her wake.
Enthralled by Her gentle cruelty,
They followed the song of Her whip.
Mesmersied by Her ordinaryness,
They craved the kiss of Her crop.
Bejewelled and bedazzling,
She glistened as She bestowed pain.
A blessing of blood and agony
Creating saints from sinners,
Who could touch the face of a god.
Loved and beloved by many,
She lived in the splendour bestowed.

Twisted Mistress
October 2006