Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town.

I woke-up in the morning,
To the sound of the radio.

I then grabbed the brush,
Nay, not the paint-brush.

I grabbed the toothbrush,
And I brushed afterwards.

I looked at my reflection,
As you came to my mind.

I smiled to myself heartily,
Revealed were my canines.

I shied away from myself,
As I find my smile demonic.

I then reasoned in my mind,
About my craziness for you.

I thought about you more,
You love me as an Angel.

I then recalled your craziness,
Could I have been blessed more.

I smiled at myself thinking,
An Angel is loved by a demon!

Late, thick with desire
Your voice, skin, smells, all absent.
Crawling in my mind.