16. Sam, Sam 5am Poem by Not Long Left

Two hundred feet below the prostitutes are pruning
whilst the punters prowl the sidewalks. Like hunters
they scan the street looking for their catch.
Down dark alleyways the midnight creatures skim
through the blackness eyes absorbing the light of the moon.

Concealed under last nights debris Sam sits alone
beside her blue feet are scattered blackened spoons,
and picked on Pot noodles, above her a light flickers
in horror. Her fingers tap the damp floor sounding out
the beat of the beaten.

Someone screams down on the street only the walls
respond, rebounding the sound until silence resumes.
Sam slips away at 5am with the weapon of mass
destruction embedded in her skeletal arms.
on her palm the words 'it will only stop when I am gone'
as morning yawns Sam sleeps for eternity.