Have you heard I’m famous here for murdering a child and selling her for cash?
Have you heard the lies, or seen the house in which I burned and flickered in the night?
Did she tell you the truth to which she kept? The fallacy of her every word?
Her hand in mine was a gentle gift, one which the Lord did give to me.
Her pretty name was ‘Natasha’ but I shan’t tell you much more. Her story revels in words sold you see.
But we were in love you see. Til the day she was five when she stole the last of my hidden gems.
We used to play in the tree houses beyond and swim in the cool spring rivers downstate.
But tonight my house burns. Gentle flickers illuminate the haunted spray of stars
& the women outside pitch my walls in vile contempt – though they see no truth in love or vice.
I hold your tender picture as the flames lap spiritually around. As they spit and call my name.
My age is six, but they made me lie, & now they force me to sit and cry.
Mom and dad are far away & left to save their name.
So here I am alone again, thinking of the girl I love.
(c) Ed Simkins