I'll be eaten alive one day: one day, i see it in my mind so close to closure along an empty street late at night (owls just retired and birds not yet up), orbs of light tethered to tall electric poles cast dappled circles on cracked pavement; illumination and safety (for that two metre radius).
Stepping between them like a girl child on stones across a garden, I anticipate each missed step as sinking into sand or frightful waves.
Singing drunk back-alley lullabies i'll soothe the skelebabies in their sleep, their poor crusted noses snuffled against a cold shift of air (their private torment plastered over billboards with corporate logos and dim colours, suggesting the city's lights have gone out and the local government is in frantics. That is, after all, what you'd focus on)
Girl child games were so tipsy and magic (and so close to real coldness); between two orbs of light i'll slip through the cracks in the pavement.
(eat me alive, eat me alive, eaten alive by the wolf at the door)