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There is a rocky
island
to the left of Pure
Despair, where the
water’s mostly deep,
as if somebody
might care. The
sharks swim there
daily as if
plenty meals there be.
I can’t help but
wonder if they
are looking for you
or me.
But on the rocky
outcrop tales of
ghosts run free, but
worst of all, out of
night strays, the
ghost of Missy Lee.
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She’s a fallen angel,
thin and strong,
flesh/wings
all gone with a bony
stare to boot, and
we always wonder
as she seeks a new
beau to shoot.
Her badge says
‘local diner’ but it’s
on you we fear she’ll
feast. Now the
moon is hung low as
winged bat things
flow across the
mountain street.
But one thing she’ll
do before she sucks
out your brain, is
hand you the
scented flower that
she says will kill all
your pain. But...
She lied.
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