Angela Higson
Pain
She often travels at night
For it’s easier then
To quietly unsheath
Her dagger.
An uneven plunge,
A bloody death -
She can’t be kinder.
She’s vain,
She wants acknowledgement,
A scream, a cry, a moan,
Her kind of laughter.
You can try touching her,
Tempting her departure,
With potions and pills
But Not yet
She will whisper, Not yet
While she writes in your head
You are ill
And lingers, longer
Than you can bear,
Her black shadow
Taunting you.
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Page(s) 23
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