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by Lady D Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1050534
This was written as therapy but I believe has a lot to offer in and of itself.
She pulls the covers snug against her chin;
tiny fists balled, she listens.

Her frail body shivers from the cold dread.
Whispered pleas take the form of prayer
spoken softly into her pillow,
hoping she has been good enough this time to be heard.

Trees offer warnings, branches scraping noisily
across the cold surface of the window panes. Moonlit centurions, standing protectively over her bed. They cry out in high pitched unison,
“Run, hide, before it’s too late,” ineffectual guardians, unable to do more than stand witness
as he comes.

Night gives way under the weight of familiar sounds. Melody lingers heavy on the air, as Elvis starts to sing. Blue Suede Shoes tells her he will come, as does the sound of ice clinking in an empty glass.

The restraints of daylight shed evil now roams free. She abandons useless pleas as the moon hides behind the clouds. The monster that the night brings shuffles nearer.

He stands outside her bedroom door,
as tormented screams rip through her mind.
“I'll Be good, I'll BE Good, I'll BE GOOD!”
The shouts of the trees reach a fever pitch,
as the smell of Jack Daniels and stale cigarettes
enters her room.

Lids closed tight over tear-filled eyes,
tiny nails digging painfully into her palms.
She tries to disappear as she hears the familiar click of the lock.

Awakened from its hiding place deep within normality, coming forth for her alone, no one else can see the beast as he pulls the covers from her trembling form and touches her.

Thunder rumbles loudly in her ears.
Fat drops of rain burst forth and strike the roof,
pounding hard like her heart, in its small space.
“It’s time to go now,” she tells herself over and over as the trees cry out in agony and helplessness, screeching and slamming relentlessly against the glass.

She draws the shutters tight as the storm rages on, rattling rain slicked panes. Until the scent of cotton candy replaces the stink of him. Sweet music fills her ears now no more Elvis. Only the sound of calliope from the carousel, as brightly painted horses carry her far, far away.
© Copyright 2005 Lady D (rittmans at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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