Her hair was long
Down to that place where *** just barely meets back
The place his fingers linger
Every time she says goodbye
The place where two tiny dimples make up for the fact she never smiles
Long like the days he spends
Wondering if she's happy at home
wondering if she's just as good at pretending to be in love
As she is at pretending not to be
Like the time he spends waiting for a sign from her... or of her
Long like her absence in his bed
He hears her laughter in his head
He'd settle for hearing her name

Her hair was thick
Like the way his tongue feels after a midnight pack of camels
She says she doesn't smoke anymore
But she does
Because she says a naked man can't smoke alone
It looks funny
Thick like her thighs
And silky smooth when they graze his stomach
Like his great grandmother's accent
He doesn't understand her but finds comfort in the texture of the syllables

Her hair was strong
Like her conviction
Her determination to stay at home where she belongs
Though she longs to be with him
Strong like the coffee she brews
Because she's too rebellious to measure anything
Coffee grounds or consequences
Like his addiction
His compulsion to reign her in
To keep her in his bed
In his heart
In his head

Her hair is dark
Like her eyes
Black pools that reflect her black heart, rotten soul
Dark like the way she makes love with the lights off
Because then she can make him into anybody
Whoever it is that she wants that day
Dark like that space between waking and dreams
Where everything is mixed up and nothing like it seems
Where he reaches out to touch her and finds only hair
A few strands on his pillowcase to remind him she was there
He finds them everywhere
Last night he found one wrapped around his big toe
He freed himself but found it hard to let it go

She says she hates to wear a ponytail
Like she doesn't want her hair to look like a horse's rear end
And he's just a ******* for letting her go again

The Nail-biter saw her as his saving grace from a life of lonesome worry
She saw him as a meal ticket and a free ride
He over looked her granny ash
He disregarded her speech impediment
Always holding his tongue when she stumbled on certain words because he loved her and all her imperfections
She had a bullet proof black hole heart and his common sense was stuck in a sound proof cell as they had what seemed to him to be, passionate ***
He worked day and night, coming home with dishpan hands
Saving up to buy her a bouquet of hydrangeas, tulips and baby's breath
She took them and said, "Wow, thank you you're such a good friend"
The Nail-biter left and drove his car into the nearest embankment
She did not attended the funeral, she was too busy having dinner with The man with OCD who didn't have tics but tocks
She knew the routine and loved every second of it

Hear me thunder, hear me roar
weapons master, god of war
darkness my *****,  sword my *****
Death, the only paramour

Blood is the only common sight
beware my claws, fear my bite
no one will ever see the light
I am the creature of the night

Destruction paths I always leave
scales of steel dwell underneath
wings of rage and dagger teeth
gold I drink, and fire breathe

have you courage, are you brave?
venture then, into my cave
There's not one life that I will save
Challenge me? become my slave.

We gather in Old London town,
the time is getting late.
The fog is slowly coming down,
the year is eighteen eighty eight.

The Leather Apron stalks this eve
ladies of the night beware.
Such things he does you wont believe
and for your welfare he’ll not care.

Hello Mister have a heart,
a girl has got to earn a crust.
A shilling for this fine old ****
for you look like a gent to trust.

In her hand the coin doth shine.
Does she lead this toff astray?
Here’s a quiet place that’s fine,
as she walks up the alley-way.

Face to face and eye to eye.
The victim happy to be plied
with vigour she lifts up her skirt
but now her hands are occupied.

Seizing strongly at her throat
he strangles her till unaware.
Unconscious although not yet broke
he lowers her by head and hair.

Now insentient on the ground
the Ripper sets about his work.
In the dark without a sound
there is no detail he will shirk.

He keeps the body to his left,
her throat is sliced from side to side.
The woman’s family now bereft,
whilst she lies here without her pride.

Left to the nights illumination
Jack executes his deadly art.
Performing such skilled mutilation.
and leaving plus one body part.

Daylight opens up commotion,
"Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more.
The peelers haven’t got a notion
who it is that killed this *****.

Scotland Yard are in despair
as they try to Investigate
their credibility beyond repair
for they cant find this reprobate.

Eventually the death toll, five,
the murders now come to an end.
Folk are free to live their lives
but could you trust even a friend.

Over an hundred years or more
professional research is far to late.
Jack, can we ever know the score?
"No... All you can do is speculate."

Coiled around the core
     of my heart
Is a sigh for the *****
     who sold my art.

I was that fiend, lusting for care,
     not long ago,
I wrote the shame on the page I tear,
     I am my foe.

But dead now, is that ***** *****,
     Buried deep within;
I write for me forevermore,
     Yet carry still that sin.