She beckons softly
with a smile
a toothy smile, a wolf's smile
and a gentle crook of the daintiest of fingers
which would send any man
scrambling to follow.
A laugh from somewhere
and it takes her a moment
to realize that it is hers
as she slides out of her trance
for but an instant.
But at once she must forget all
because otherwise
she will remember
and will be even more frightened than before.
He follows her--who wouldn't?--
and off they go
to a neverland far away
yet it is too close for her.
She was hoping she would forget
maybe
if she went far enough
if he was different
if he wasn't him.
But at that touch,
strange and foreign and unfamiliar,
she realizes that it's no use
for they are all the same.
A tear for sure
and maybe she can wash away
the memories
of that touch, so unwanted
but it's not likely.
He hurts and she hurts and he hurts to see she hurts and she hurts to see he hurts
and she wishes it would end
she wishes, oh! She wishes!
But nightmares have a funny way
of coming back to haunt
just when you thought they never would.
And the monsters pop out of the closet
when you've almost fallen asleep.
She would not fall asleep.
That gentle beckoning finger was not her own,
it could not have been,
that tinkling laugh was fake
and her voice did not belong to her.
What was this she was saying?
Why, oh why? He would only hurt more.
It's so cliche, she thought,
but oh, so true.
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