He was an intrusion, of absolute proportion; penetrating her world after ingesting her soul in words; adjusting his intention to mirror her verse; and yield to him she did, as a scent on the breeze. He fooled and beguiled, wrapping her so tightly in his web of illusion, so as to not draw breath, in the absence of his presence.
But in her darkest hour, when his debauchery was arrogantly revealed, she did not succumb to the iniquitous pain; but gripped the dagger determinedly in both hands, withdrawing it from the gaping wound; raising it to the heavens, a goddess of just punishment and vengeance.
A victim escaped, from his kingdom of abysmal darkness. A defiant act he could not discern; infuriating, frightening, invading his calculated demeanor; pulling him to the edge, as she resurrected from certain death; causing him to strike unabashedly, showing himself the fool within his own pathetic realm.
She allows him these glimpses that keep him coming; an end to satisfy their story; in his angst-filled world that is without end; the poetess wielding a witches pen; hovering over past lives, this one and the next; a bitter enemy writing the text, an unbeatable opponent, an avenger rejoicing his downfall, delighting in his much deserved punishment.
© jillterry
Wordsmith Extraordinaire 
This explains a lot! None of the old cliches apply because mental illness makes them all null and void…
wielding a witches pen….
I like this. I wonder where I have misplaced mine? Have you seen it?
More I like here as well…I think the refusal to be but a victim, that very defiance, is the very thing that makes some of us indeed so “infuriating, frightening”, and able to reveal so much. No wonder the likes were hunted down and burnt up. What other way to destroy these things; the words, the defiance?
Nicely done, Jill.
PS-Let me know also if you see my pen sharpener…