The cold, the storm, the
night, it comes to haunt
my soul. The creep and
crawl of each imagined
fright, the man with teeth;
the steel to steal my
innocence, my life, my little girl.
I imagine him or them coming
in the night, afraid when they
come, wondering how-
Darkness tells me what I need
to know, the lack of hope, the
TV soap, a time to kill, a
window show. Like a Jackson
Pollack, a Hitchcock movie scream
it's a crack inside my mind
the kind behind the screen
it can't be seen.
The little girl clutches her head
never waking from her dream.
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