In the Dead of Night

The avenues were vacant, vacant of victims;
'all but me' she thought. All but me.
The outcast-
walked the home-less alley
Tapped cobblestones on her sauntered steps
In this gloom on this moon-less night.

It astounded her- the compressing noise
Footsteps devoured the pavement with ease.
The repetitiousness of echoed steps was unbearable,
She began to twitch in her rosy chiffon dress.
When a hot breath on her shoulder ended all relief.

A freezer-burned hand snatched her nape,
There was a shocking absence of treading echoes.
Her heart began to beat: 'control, control.'
But the strength prevailed,
and towered on her as if to devour her also.

Fear that screamed: 'my dear, my dear,'
Oblivious pain: 'not me, not here;'
She held herself tight-
on to all that she had inside.

Memory, oh dear dark deep memory,
Realize, a scar's for now, for ever.
She could not erase the dirt from her pink-ness.
She was in need of warmth-
once injected with cold-ness.
Day had broken, had broken her down.

9/10/96