My friends have nicknamed me Houdini.
I have the uncanny ability to make lovers disappear without a trace
With nothing but magic words and the ripping of a sheet.
They dematerialize into nothing but molecules and isotopes
And are swept up in the unforgiving wind produced when I utter the words:
“I can’t do this anymore.”
My magic is most proficient when my mind starts playing tricks on me.
It produces false pretenses, and speaks stories of treason,
Giving me the sign that the show is about to begin.
“Would anyone from the crowd like to volunteer?”
I use significant others as volunteers for my voodoo
Yet I am not in control of the pins.
My brain searches for vulnerabilities,
Pokes and prods until it’s victims are small enough to fit inside my pocket:
An indication that the illusion was successfully performed.
“For my next trick, I shall bring the lovely participant back right before your eyes.”
I never learned the spell to bring people back;
Only to make them flee.
I guess I’m the world’s worst magician
By Vincent Midolo
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