Voodoo Legba, open the barrier,
We beg you to slide your fingertips,
And draw the veil between the living and the dead.
We owe so many gold medals, from so many different faces,
We beg for forgiveness as we have never asked before,
And if we pray now and you let us in we'll be satisfied,
But you deny, revealing a smile that tells us that this is what we deserve.
Deal for deal, life for life,
Betrayals often, secrets in plain sight.
Laughter, beer, wine and food,
Flesh of your flesh, and for coins you forget,
And when they lie above your eyes, there will be no one to stop them.
And when Papa Legba makes contact with your eyes,
A reddish look, empty and terrifying,
There will be no choice but to look for another known deity.
YOU ARE READING
MASOCHISM.
PoetryThis is a story told after a long time, a late revenge, revealing my version and the truth of what happened. Maybe it's masochism, or a simple pain addiction? Co-Written by Isabel Climent Martinez.
