Confession 7

Gutshot, my end drawing nearer, 

I struggled to remain alive --

A small voice behind me croaked, "drive",

So faint I almost didn't hear her;

I glanced at the car's rear view mirror,

My terror in full overdrive --

Insanity becoming clearer,

My mind like a frenzied beehive.

I slowly turned on the ignition,

Doing my best to stay brave --

My captor, she reeked of the grave;

A moment of dim recognition...

Had I used her to misbehave? 

I drove onward without petition

Straight to a forest enclave. 

The jacket (not I) recognized her:

A victim from sometime ago --

I sputtered, "P-please let me go,"

As blood poured from me in a geyser...

(This one wasn't mine. That I know --

But, not being innocent either,

I felt silence quite apropos.)

Her milky eyes, clouded with yellow

Hung bright in the dark, like an owl,

Her face twisted into a scowl, 

"You've chosen a dangerous bedfellow,"

She said with a predator's growl. 

My insides went soft as marshmallow,

Threatening to release my bowel.

I turned off the Chevrolet's engine

And slowly got out of the car --

She walked behind me (not too far), 

Silently, heightening the tension...

(I know you must think I'm bizarre --

As if spinning some dark urban legend --

But I swear it's all true, this memoir.)

---

© Jackson Cambridge, 2016.