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WoundedBird

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Lady Mutilator
By WoundedBird

parody of Slyvia Plath - Lady Lazarus
 

Parody: Lady Lazarus - Sylvia Plath Original: Lady Mutilator - WoundedBird
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

Yes, yes Herr Professor
It is I.
Can you deny

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
I have done it again.
For four babes in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of screaming miracle, the skin
Bright as newborn cry,
My right hand

A gardener,
My face expressionless for this, fine
Jew tradition.

Peel back the synechiae
O my baby.
Do I terrify?----

The clamp, the scalpel, my white shiny teeth?
The agony
Won't vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The prepuce purloined will be
Incincerated

And I a complacent observer
I am only 25
And like Faust, I have sold my soul to Mephistopheles.

It's like trimming back a tree
What a trash
To annihilate sensation.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone, I may be Japanese,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
What a million membranes.
The peanut-crunching residents
Shove in to see

Us unwrap him shaft to glans
the big strip-tease.
Gentleman, ladies

These are his g-spots
you see.
He may be skin and bone

Nevertheless, he is the same, identical baby.
The first time I saw one I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
to last it out and finish the job and all.
my heart locked shut

Like a Plastibell.
his screams did call and call
"Pick me up off this circumstraint!"

Mutilation
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
It's easy enough to do it in a hospital.
it's easy enough to do it and wash up.
It's the theatrical

Come back the next day
with a tube of emla cream, a new baby, a dorsal block
amused shout:

'Magnificent!'
Let's knock him out.
There is a charge

For the creation of his scars, there is a charge
for the beating of his heart
it really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
for a purloined prepuce to the biotech companies
and the procedure itself

And the bandages and antiseptic.
So, so Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Welcome Wagon.

This was an opus,
This was your valuable,
A pure gold baby

Who passed out in a shriek
He turns and churns
he won't forget your lack of concern

Forceps, scalpel---
We prod and snip.
Ridged Bands, frenulum, they are no longer there...


Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Forceps, scalpel---
We prod and snip.
Ridged Bands, frenulum, they are no longer there...

A Bleeding glans,
A denuded shaft,
A high tight cut.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Herr Residents, Herr Mutilators
Beware
Beware.

When this child is a man
He'll rise with his lawyer
And then he'll make you care

WoundedBird is a member of Foreskin-Restoration.net/forum, the intactivists' network. 

 

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