Late December Nights


I saw a girl in my house last night,
hunched shoulders, and light brown eyes that screamed "help me."
Her lips trembled and only made a soft cry.
Late December nights found their way though the bricks,
yet she did not dare ask for a jacket.
When your mind is crumpled up and frosted over,
you find comfort in the months when the leaves do the same.
It was four in the morning and her whispers called out:
"Save me. Can you save me?"
God, I tried, I really did.
But when I brought out my arm, her pale hand could not reach me,
only imitate my own.
Suddenly I heard her cries: louder and louder.
"I'm dying look at me!"
Vocal chords ripping, they were stretching the walls out.
And I didn't even know who she was.
I tried to make it stop.
I knew she could not talk or move.
She needed me, but my hands were getting cold, pressed to her skin.
"I'm trapped dear God! Just get me out!"
She pierced the tile floor with tears;
and as she stared back at me,
her lips were bleeding and her cheeks were wet.
But all I could do was stop biting and wipe my eyes.
I saw a girl in my house last night. Maybe it was me.

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