Wandering the moonlight maze
lost in shadows adrift in dreamy haze
She sought an escape to dreary dull days
This powder, that pill
contorted her will
till all her coins, her money did spill
into dealer’s hand who sold her fill
of this pill, that powder, stuff to time kill
till debts brought trouble, pain, the old Bill.
Thus in the dark of graveyard cold
in a street of the dead she lay on the mould
bruises sore, though many weeks old
cover by her feeble blanket unrolled
healing slow as on the stones she lolled
done with deceit and being controlled
for death she waited, calm, foretold
of freezing death, and to death she sold
her soul, on life she released her hold.
Shivering dark descended
vision clouded, thoughts distended
misery’s avatar she waited to be ended.
“Not this night, my dear sweet
your not meant for this quiet street.”
One stinging touch on gentle flesh
she clung to life, renewed, a-fresh
for the reaper’s scythe had other souls to thresh.