A token to a killer a treasure in a chest and the policeman comes along to make his first arrest.
Grim he got there first, to take evil to his lair, and left behind Jane Doe,
for Grim couldn’t take her there.
She sat beside the body Stockholm now her name, she cried for her lost daddy, and for when the angels
never came.
Blood upon her hands and shame upon her heart a whimper from the corner and she near on fell apart.
She could not save the rest the monster took them all. A shoe for each the girls that fell, one less if
she could tell.
Throat slit open, eyes closed, blood spilled across the floor Jane Doe dropped the crimson knife and
waited by the door.
She couldn’t waste a second, could feel the mist devour the last shreds of her soul, adrenalin now her power.
She opened up the chest counted up the shoes wandered between the trees collecting bare feet from all the graves she knew.
The policeman followed on and looked deep within her eyes, he counted up the children through his broken, sobbing cries.
Jane, he said, young lady, there’s a shoe left on the wall tell me where to find this grave so her parents I can call.
Jane simply looked away, the officer
begged give us her name. Tell us where to find her grave…
But this shoe had no grave, only demons in her mind for Jane you see, she was the first, life for her perhaps was worse.
He kept her slave by day and night
watched her as she grew, beat her when she seeked the light and even made her choose.
And now her hands are stained with blood, their lives upon her chest, the horrors of her past still raw, Jane Doe will never rest.
But the officer a fierce man now talks above her pleas, Jane he says my child, your daddy was not he, this blood is not your sin, that man was not your kin. So Jane my child tell me, that treasure on the wall,
Give to me a name, so the parents I can call.
Jane looked the officer deep within his eyes, said, you see, that shoe upon the wall, that shoe belongs to me.
Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words
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