In the evening

I carry her voice with me

The siren of my teenage years

Her face

Hair, my god her hair

The scent of a thousand paradise islands

Waves that caressed and framed a face

Of satin, ivory and the most delicate of freckles

Her body, her soul

They sing to me in the twilight hours

Alone

I weep for her

In crowds I am lonelier still

I dream

For to find her herself with me again

Would allow me to be free

Of this existence

Torture, demonic and inhumane.

There she is again

She sings yet still at dawn

Now in the day, before afternoon tea

And at night as the lights go out

No moments of silence now

Even in slumber

I see her beauty, her perfectly peaceful

And hear her message

“Why”

She once murmured, now screams

“WHY!”

And I cannot answer

To her

Myself

The lord

Or the judges

I suppose some people are just born that way

But I’ve found I will see her again

Sooner than I could have ever dreamed

I will see and feel her body

Headless and fair

She continues screaming “WHY, Damien?”

As I’m led toward

The chair