A poem about life's depravity. There are no glass slippers in this one!
Cinderella looks so easy,
As she heads toward the ball,
And the perverts hands are greasy,
As he twirls his snooker balls,
He's standing in the shadows,
Watching her go by,
Saliva running down his chin,
And a twinkle in his eye.

The night is warm with madness,
As the crazies stalk the streets,
The sirens break the silence,
As another innocent gets beat,
A blade glints in the streetlight,
And a poor boy gives a moan,
Before slumping to the pavement,
To let the angels take him home.

Cinderella leaves the building,
To have another smoke,
Sheltering from the teeming rain,
Feeling safe within the porch,
The pervert, he's still watching,
From the close across the street,
Memorizing everything,
To know exactly what he'll need.

A trembling noise like thunder,
Says the circus is in town,
A car screeches around the corner,
As the seven drunkards shout,
They're looking for a rumble,
To wash their hands in blood,
They don't care who it belongs to,
They just want their reward.

The pervert is still watching,
The door across the road,
Soon the nightclub will be closing,
And he'll get his reward,
He waits for Cinderella,
Filled with sinful thoughts,
About what he's going to do to her,
As he holds on to his rod.

The cops are taking tea breaks,
For them it's just another night,
In the distance a pistol cracks,
But they are deaf and blind,
Another body in the gutter,
As the blood flows down the drain,
This town is full of nutters,
But the cops don't give a damn.

Cinderella leaves the building,
Looking for her friends,
The perverts hands are trembling,
As he drops his cigarette,
He knows it won't be long now,
Before he gets his wicked way,
He'll inter her in the muddy ground,
She won't see the light of day.

At the crack of dawn the trucks are out,
To wash the streets of blood,
When a workman sees a finger,
Poking through the mud,
Alerted by the media,
The cops are out in force,
No thoughts for Cinderella,
She's just another corpse!

Published: 7/8/2010
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