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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2234604-White-Lace-Nightgown
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2234604
A girl, dressed in a white, lace nightgown, is running away from her captor's house.
I'm tiptoeing in the garden
In my white, lace nightgown.
In the early morning of October.
When the breezes feel like spirits flying by*Wind*
And all the leaves are falling dead.
Cold, wet soil dirtying my feet
With every step I take towards the riverside.
Anywhere far from here, the house in the woods.*TreeFall**TreeFall2**TreeFall3*
A place that will be haunted forever,
With my own agonising cries
It's a house of horrors.*House*
Going through torment and torture
Every night of every day.
But now I'm setting myself free.
By running away.
With every step I take, I'm wondering
If the old man is still snoring on the sofa
With his bottle of beer loosly grasped.*Bottle3*
Or what if he knows that I've escaped?
What if he's looking for me now?
A voice somewhere
Is keeping my feet moving
But this feeling in my stomach
Is telling me to turn back.
To go back to playing his daughter
and him playing my father.
The back door of the house swings open.
And the old man comes out,
Carrying a girl,
Dressed in a white, lace nightgown.
She lies lifeless in his arms.
He takes her to a shallow grave
And buries her in the cold, wet ground.
My heart drops and tears
Come pouring down.
Like rain from the sky palled with grey cotton.

I'm not escaping anything.
Cause I'm already dead.

© Copyright 2020 Chérie Morelle (cheriemorelle at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2234604-White-Lace-Nightgown