Monday, October 1, 2007

Shaken, Not Stirred

I spend my days wandering
around an empty house
Closing window shades
keeping the sun from peeking inside
I’m so fidgety-
Straightening up tables and such
I don’t know what I’m waiting for
but someone is coming over

I’m a mess
I can’t get clean
My arms are a map of misery
Cuts, scratches and stabs
Burn marks and peeling scabs
I haven’t eaten in days
I have other things to think about

The doorbell rings;
it jars my senses
I’m half excited-half afraid
A little girl in search of her Teddy bear
The click of the lock makes me
Everyone knows I leave a key under the mat
When the door opens
I bow my head in silence

Tears flow down and I kind of know why
a hand lands on my shoulder
I feel the cold steel against my cheek
My time has come to pay

“Mike hasn’t come through with the money?”
I ask already knowing the answer
Making the job easier I lay face down on the
I could have ran, tried to escape
But having been abandoned
I’d rather just go ahead and

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