Treasure Island

Jackie Allen


Can't Sleep


The streets are smeared, slick and wet,
Rivulets of screaming madness crash
Against the peace. The night is too harsh.
One could end up in a discarded heap.

An army of foot soldiers descend on
The scene... a voice lost, she cannot scream.
Yet, before her eyes, she sees arteries,
Lights flashing, blood red, sputtering, and she~

.....She is tight, like an applied tourniquet.

The night is an evil siren, she wails,
Then Is eerily quiet. Her hands have
Bound her with excuses; she is reminded
That she is weak, a victim of her mind.

She aches... worry wears her hands, always
Stressing from hiding behind fog of fear,
Some breath-prayers. Alas, standing before her~
Winged creatures, black caped, their eyes indite her~

.....Their tongues hurl insults of surrealistic truth.

Third window from the left, fourth house, room
Seven, to the right, a run-down corridor~
She’s lying, no, she’s floating on a raft...
Her breath raspy, she attempts a whimper.

Weeps she now, without warning, closes she
Her eyes...She’s soaring above the house tops.
Blue-black, bloody, steaming hot, cold, the lost
Night below begs for relief, begs for mercy~

.....And, considers how it’s supposed to end.

Submitted: Monday, July 15, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, July 16, 2013
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