Analysis of "Who, then, is my Magdelene?"

Who, then, is my Magdalene?

The strung out strigoi playing the dumb blonde,
Worldly enough to value nothing more than her amusement,
When really her mind matches her 24 karat hair,
Glinting superciliously through dead eyes,
And granting nothing, secure in her angel skull;
I break it open with her own knowing crystal ball,
And coat every karat on my fucking toilet.
Now she watches and whispers at my right hand,
Blowing smoke in the faces of everyone else;
And she curtsies every time she lifts the golden lid,
Delighted by the opportunity for dimples.
Blood is her raison d'être;
And I am a dealer par excellence.