Octopus Pit

Lisa looked over her shoulder
To see if the two were still working on her.
These two were the grotesque type,
Too over the top; not in a fun way,
A scary way.
They were grinding their metal teeth,
So wet with spittle.
Her larvae were growing tall under her feet, they were writhing about and tangling themselves on her hard, slender, stilettoed heels.
Main Street glistened under red and yellow lights -
Electric bloodshed and remote radio convulsions.
Crime scene photos sold on the black market.
The crumpled paper in my pocket, the one with the runny blue ink and water splotches, that was from her.