“Every Night” by Ellen Webre

Every night I’ve lain awake

with baited breath.

Shadows flash across

the ceiling as cars

pass by the window.

There is a woman out there,

I know it, hissing at the moon

and clawing her withered breasts.

The blinds are never lifted,

for her eyes are high beams

that would catch me out

if I escaped my own restraints.

She is sunlit lamp shaded

by a stolen skin suit.

I met her once on Ok Cupid

and now she won’t leave me alone.

I had thought she had a most ordinary

trustable face, but it’s the tongue

that gives her away:

a warped, non­geometric tentacle

that flays skin off muscles

and worms through caverns­­

how sweet it was.

She wants me to kill her,

to carve up her limbs into new flesh,

so that these offspring can grow

into other versions of herself.

Cravings for betrayal

keep her watching,

whispering of her affairs,

lying viciously, and

rending my heart to pieces

with her angelic voice.

Ellen Webre is a Southern California poet greatly inspired by her friends in the Orange County poetry scene and their prompts. She is a regular at the Ugly Mug poetry readings and has been featured there, the Coffee Cartel and Mosaic in UC Riverside.

Photo Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/thomashawk/

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