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

Two hundred feet below the
prostitutes are pruning whilst
the punters are prowling,
Like hunters on safari
eyes scanning the streets
in search of a catch.
In dark alleyways midnight
creatures meow
whilst the wind howls outside
her rain stained window.

Concealed under last nights
debris, Sam sits alone
beside her lay blackened needles,
and pick on pot noodles.
A light flickers in horror.
A skeleton with damp marked
skin shakes, tapping its fingers
upon the sick stained floor.
Rythmically sounding out
the beat of the beaten.

The abused now bieng the abuser
sits in piss, grimaces in bliss
whimpering weakly like a wounded
bird, wings broken hopelessly
fighting the inevitable.

A forgotten someone
with a face of pain,
Samantha was once her name:
when she was loved and
cherished, when her hair
with all its cute curls, which
father would swirl around his
loving fatherly fingers.

Sam slips away at 5am
with the weapon of mass
destruction still embedded
in her twig like arm.
written on her palm
the words
'it will only stop when I am gone'
Samantha is now free,
At 5am she sleeps for eternity.