DARCIE ANTHOLOGY - LA TRAICION

LA TRAICION 

The perfect story that you told them about me was too good to be true.

It smells like roses in the tantalizing aroma of fresh freesia in the coffee room.

The narrative fits in every line, and the holes are nowhere to be found.

It was a paradox, like an enigma, and you made me a clown and stole my crown.

You wrote the hoax and executed your plan,

And you made a play to run away with my gown,

While you left me with the hitman inside my van.

Congratulations! You’ve made it to the big screen.

It was as if your imagination ran wild while my ink faltered, and I went downhill.

Overwhelmed by the lights and attention, you overshared.

You do like and write like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but your writing is very Thomas Jason Blair.

Now, they’ve started talking about my existence, wondering why my traces have disappeared.

It’s true—my stage became yours, and my book became an eyesore.

Now, you wash your hands clean and pray for my downfall.

You are a wordsmith because everything is in place and intentional.

You almost fooled everyone, except my mother, because she was a professional.

I played undercover before, and she gave me a warning.

And that’s a mistake you did not see coming.

It was as if you knew how to play the game, but the truth was you were just unprofessional.

I was just confirming and practicing my hunting skills, and everything you had done was unpardonable.

Now I knew you were the mole, and the experience was unforgettable.

You stabbed me in the back with a knife, but you published your manuscript with a twist.

I was found guilty of the crime I didn’t commit, and I was put on the blacklist.

The people nodded their heads, spat against me, and played it more,

As if it were the truth, and they believed the lies.

It was your story you unfolded, and the truth was disguised.

You sent everyone a message, but you left mine in the outbox.

Your version was broadcast on the television network while you sipped your cold coffee at Starbucks.

I wink at your presence in the corridor because I knew my truth, like Dan Brown,

But I was pushed down the rabbit hole, and I was nowhere to be found.

You all know it was a lie, and I got an alibi.

You watched me play and write, and you wished to hit me bullseye.

You played all along like the seiche in the Norwegian Sea,

You played your part in this game and made it seem so natural, like the flow in the river in the east while you hid your intention in the tree.

Your people shouted to hang me as if it were an April feast and wished me dead and gone in the jamboree.

You wanted me dead because you saw me as a threat.

Now, there are three sides to every story, as Robert Evans said.

Your people called me defensive for being inactive,

You released a statement to cover your tactics.

My vision went black, and your motive became visible.

It was your defense, as if you declared an emergency war.

You lit the fire, and I responded and called you a liar.

You initiated the fight because of your jealousy.

I pulled the trigger and fired it; that is against your so-called policy.

Your men abducted me, just as you instructed.

Now, you played the victim in the problem you fabricated.

And your hands are shaking because your alibi did not corroborate your story.

And you knew that my town had always been gray,

But you painted it red to mark that I was your prey.

I became the villain in your play, as if I were the criminal mind in your mastermind game.

You presented the evidence that you are the victim, just as you claimed.

You came clean and insisted that you were framed.

You pointed your fingers at me to take all the blame.

And in the avenue, you will sue me, and you’ll lose me.

You countersued me, and you wish I would be a detainee.

You hope to lose my license in front of those attendees.

I rise from the dead, the secret you didn't know.

I got my vengeance in one blow.

I was a fighter like Achilles and as brave as Hercules.

The demon inside me was unleashed.

And I was the Maleficent in your world.

In the cold wind on January 18th—

You received a call in one word.

I burned the bridges, cut all the ties with you,

I flipped the book in my chapter and started running.

I don’t want to become a pawn in your political games,

And you started chasing and screaming.

Thousands of words you have said and done to me are now firing.

The flames you created are chasing you like a ghost from the dead,

And the words that you whispered were left unsaid.

I was prim and proper, like the origin of the word 'nerd' in Dr. Seuss's book,

Pure as Psyche in the mortal world.

But I remember now, and my mind went back to 1951.

You never knew my greatest secret of all time.

You are Aphrodite, and I was Psyche.

Nike is my nickname, Victoria is my name,

And victory is my trophy.

You knew I was also a writer, an author, and a poet.

I was born in 1775, and my name starts with Jane.

I can be Voltaire and William Blake in 1757,

But you will never find my trace like Agatha Christie in the 1920s.

Whodunnit is my game, and “Who are you?” is my name.

I lived in the shade for so long and hid in my room,

But when I came out, I could still boom.

You were never my friend, but you blended so well.

I am my mirror, but you made me your shadow.

It was envy that made you commit your crime in one go,

But it was your nature and blood to fight with me all along, and you went so low.

But I am the jack of all trades, and you didn’t know it.

I am the Phoenix of my game, and Arthur is my name,

While Hades is your grave and Dolus is your name.

They called me Ares because I have won every battle I have played,

And you betrayed me like what happened to Kratos.

The perfect crime that you plotted was almost my downfall in the shadows.

You should apologize for your crime, but look at what you’ve done to your mother.

I was never the perfect prey to begin with, and you are not a trained predator,

Nor do you deserve a lover.

You should know that I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but Zeus is my temper.