Sitting on the Edge of the Moon

Sitting on the Edge of the Moon

Slipping under a pink ruffled bedspread
Cocooning blankets tight and close
Always but always turning away from the door
Pulling as far into herself as she can
Breathing as shallowly as possible
Wanting to make no sound
Wanting not to exist
Small body tense and alert

Ears straining…listening
for sounds of the monster

Vigilant until the need for sleep
sings a siren song of false security
Of a safety that has never been

Drifting off, muscles slackening
breaths becoming deeper

And while the moonlight streams
in a nearby window
Bathing her face in the violet kissed beams
The monster stirs and arises

No one to warn her of it’s approach
No one to fend it off

Jerked out of sleep that is always uneasy
Like a fish dining unsuspectingly on a hook laden worm
Heart in throat, as adrenaline floods the world
Scream swallowed as a hand rests on her hip
Silent and still
Playing possum as if her life depended upon it

Silly girl, doesn’t she know
That she died a long time ago?

Termite ridden paneling
so frail in places
you could poke holes in
it with your fingers
Like probing man fingers poked
holes in her soul

Mind a caged animal
Not daring to move
to breathe
to be
she steps through the wall
and disappears
leaving the monster behind

And from the edge of the moon
Another girl watches
Lightly perched, legs swinging back and forth
As a soft diamond dust breeze gently blows

She watches as the dead girl lies so still
A show she’s seen many times before

Yet she watches anyway

The defiler doesn’t touch
Outside of a hand to the hip
His work..the murder…done long ago
Yet he is compelled to return
To the place where she died

A tribute paid to her demise
He brings not roses
But strokes his dick
And splashes commemorative  funeral cum
On the hardwood floor

His property marked
the defiler quietly goes
leaving the girl behind

Except she is really no longer there

And the girl
sitting on the edge of the moon
glances at the dead body
still wrapped in the pink flowered bedspread
a small lift of her shoulders
having lost interest in this oft repeated play

She rises and walks along
the curve of the crescent moon
Humming a song
Moonlight reflected in her black patent leather shoes
As the diamond dust wind lifts her hair

The dead girl…


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