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Apr 2013
She was a tiny, angel of woman,
mindlessly moving in a chemical haze
Her heart barricaded tormented
from her long, lonely days...
From dancing on the edge of a pin  

Twirling oblivious on a bar room pole
trying to live her shoddy role
Stripped of dignity, ripped of grace
that’s imposed upon her lifeless soul…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

Her teardrops falling, slowly slipping, silently dripping
leaving behind a clear, salty trace
as they slide down her cheeks
like icy blue, watery veins on her weary, tear stained face...
While dancing on the edge on a pin

She dances mindlessly without care
from one seedy bar to another
in faded, jaded memories blurred by her past
Through misty, watery depths she bleeds
trying to quench a thirst so deep
in her hemorrhaged, sedated heart so worn, so torn
by her dreams that did not last…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

She slides down the pole performing her dance
floating in an igneous swirl of aqueous, diluted anesthesia
Demons eating and devouring her soul
through her darkened descent of amnesia…
Dancing on the edge of a pin

In painful depths that twist and turn
in her nebulous, muddled reality of unspeakable memories
that cannot exist in her mind
lest they drive her deeper in a shattered demise…
She dances on the edge of a pin

Childhood dreams
that were stripped cruelly of their parts
her mind wanders in a foggy, semi-conscious state of grace
from hungry teeth marks
left on her innocent, delicate face
Cheap, neon lights bathe ******, shoddy floors
in seedy, darkened bars that smell
of stale cigarettes and *****

Dangerous, dingy, low-rent neighborhoods
leased by lurking, lewd, slovenly men
who try to ***** her every move
She sits on an old, bar stool, sipping amber colored whiskey
from a *****, shot glass
waiting for drunk, salacious men to approach
handing her their grimy, rumpled cash…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

Ten dollars a dance to the tune of one weary, old song
or twenty dollars an hour to some drunk, bleary eyed man
for sixty minutes she’ll dutifully belong
Shadowy features biting at her heels
Unnamed creatures gripping, clawing at her heart
like broken shreds of steel
Her soul so bruised from so many wounds that cannot heal
A fragile, beautiful soul, so battered, so used
One sad morning the headlines of the daily news
printed one more, sad obituary
of a beautiful soul so badly abused
Her parents were sent a note
from the bar where she’d last worked
that said…

“Your daughter used to work here, but now that she’s dead
will you please stop by and pick up her clothes and shoes"?    

       Death of an angel
anne p murray
Written by
anne p murray  USA
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