She's waiting on the dock

Placing her feet in the slowly receding waters of memory

As she watches them:

The dusky, rained on, tearstained banshee

and the other,

together, like they had been slowly promising against the windswept skies of presents and futures

Yet the memory's waters against her feet seem to be leaving with the tide

And the banshee is no longer hers to own

He seems to belong to another, a demon, a darter from leftovers

a coward

a joke

a complete fake

And now she's left here, staring into the ocean of loss and strife

as the ghost stalks in the shadows.

Maybe she should have stayed with Hello and Get Up,

Yorick the Skull,

Or even the dust bound book which had been touched by so many hands

Forget about that damned Banshee, who only lead to the thorns and caverns

But it's hard to forget

since the waters are threatening to drown or desert

But once again, she'd thought she had those grains of sand

knew she had them

was sure she had them

but suddenly, unknowingly, they were gone

back into the ocean to maybe become a pearl.

But that pearl could very well be crushed beneath limbs of strangled beings.

And there they are

Banshee and demon

breaking for the bus stop

catching their reflection in the windows

jumping on

and leaving her again.

Is the grass really that much greener on the other side?