There, Princess. In the cold autumn dark, a pallid face, fungal and damp.
It speaks no blandishments, that panting breath is all the message it bears.
This is the one that has awaited you, salivating, leering, watching you
As you blithely trudged from door to suburban door, seeking sugar
Wrapped in orange and black, your crystalline froth of princess dress
Floating like an illicit promise, like a gaudy wrapper for an innocent gift,
Like sweet ice, frosting on your virgin flesh, succulent and smooth.

This is the night of masks and confusions, hidden visages, darkest dreams.
Beneath the surface spray of fun, modern meaningless guises of cartoons,
Clowns and robots, true demons lurk with treacher’s hearts and wiles,
Watching the parade of heedlessness, pouring ineluctably careless past
And around and behind the wavering attention of adult supervision,
And their starving soulless eyes rest unseen on happily lost children,
Like you, little princess, floating alone from porch-light to lamp-post.

Now the light pools grow seldom, the ebon gulfs between widen inexorably.
Your pretty little dress flounces, your pert tiara flashes for each brightness,
But the darknesses between grow ever wider. That pale face, shadow of
A darker night yet, a starving ghost that aches to possess you to the marrow,
Drifts ever closer behind you. Your steps are slowing, as if you tire, or as if
The darkness is finally entering your blood, to make you tired and fearful.
It is the true night here and now, and real monsters stalk amid the faux.

Among the seeming safe suburbs, illusions hide black truths. The monsters move
From dark to dark between the lamps, under the dull blind eyes of townhouses.
One by one they douse their lights and become angular dark hills, lifeless, blank,
Merciless as those now-razed older hills where cryptic races slept. Soon, small one.
Soon… and yes, there he comes, smooth and swift, gracefully snatching you off
Into the silent woods beside the path, where no light will shine on you and he
And the bloody delight of the feast. Beautiful. Enjoy your meal, Princess.

BT Murtagh


~ by B.T. Murtagh on October 31, 2011.

2 Responses to “Princess”

  1. AWESOME! What more can I say?

  2. Thanks Gene, I really appreciate that!

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