He wiped a bead a sweat from a face quickly turning gray |
Angie went missing the day before, Her boyfriend, Ben, raced to the cameras galore. He grinned slyly, as he walked up to the swarm, Caught himself smiling, then switched to perform. "I'm not terribly worried," he would proclaim. A veil of calm, concealing an abuser's flame. "She got heated and stormed into the night. She overreacted to all our little fights." "I'm sure she'll be back later on today." Then he wiped away sweat from a face turning gray. Each ticking second, such a cruel jest, There was no hope, his soul grew distressed. "It's decidedly so," he said a bit too loud, "She can't stay away too long," he said a little too proud. "I'm sure she'll turn up, all in a rush, Begging forgiveness, her face a rosy blush." Each of his heartbeats was like a broken clock, Where the silence screams, and the specters mock. Was it a curse, or fate? No one truly knows, There's so far to go, and anticipation grows. Seven days pass, and Angie's still missing, Now most believe she is no longer living. Down where unspeakable things preside, There's a dark place where Angie died. The path winds narrow and twisted tight, Where nightmares and evil reunite. A place where Ben often resides, A place where goodness always hides. Beneath the planks, under the back porch, They found a shallow grave, with only a torch. There they found Angie with her fist closed tight, Holding Ben's necklace she grabbed in the fight. Beneath the ink of never-ending night, She's now released into the light. Ben is left with his bottomless lies, A guiltless face without disguise. (36 Lines) Written for "The Writer's Cramp" ▼ |