Tuesday, May 09, 2006

She was about seven

Maybe going on eight

She still retained her innocence

He fed from it

The clock missed the strike of one

Though he didn't

Nor did he miss the strike of two or three

She wasn't ready for this

God no

She wasn't

Screams sound off into the streets

Yet only one came


She was seven

Going on eight

Her birthday would be at exactly one

Tears from a mother

Tears from a child

On the floor

A broken mirror

A child once was

Never to be


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