Notes

On March 9,
He comes home,
With a birthday cake,
To wish her,
And hug her.
Only to find her,
With a rope around her neck,
Hanging from the ceiling fan.

He cuts her down,
And lays her limp body on the bed,
Propping a pillow behind her neck.
Then,
He feeds her cake,
Like she used to do
To him.

And,
Wiping crumbs off her stiff lips,
While squeezing her lifeless hand,
Tightly,
He laughs with her corpse,
'Till the sun sets.

Giving the dead girl,
Her very first
Birthday party.

100 Letters To A Dead Girl.

The girl at the phone booth
Makes a call.
“Mom…Dad!” she cries.
No response at all.

As a rumbling train passes by,
She remembers Father’s final lie.
“America has a lot in store.”
Then he shoved her out the door.

When the sun begins to set,
The brave girl shivers from the cold.
She doesn’t own a jacket,
Just a worn-out shirt, filled with holes.

She puts down the phone in dismay,
And on the rock-hard ground, her head lay.
She tries dozing off, into a slumber,
Ignoring her empty stomach’s hunger.

Thanks to Nicole for reading drafts.