Entry Four

   
   
When the rules of the game  
change  
on the blood exchange  
All eyes staring  
looking at the wrong thing  
   
The leather bound book  
we call an album  
used as a journal  
builds dust on it's covers  
The words fade    
into invisible ink  
as it gets old in it's telling  
older in it's  
reading  
   
The hand carved
antique jewellery chest with the
one legged ballerina  
spinning circles to  
chinese tracks  
still positioned carefully    
dead-centre  
on the dressing table  
in front of the mirror  
   
Mental note:  
Don't look up  
Don't look in  
that dresser mirror  
   
When mirrored eyes meet  
you'll see the evil unveiled     
There's to be no shame    
in the crying  
   


-x-