save her, savior

The scene is moonlit,
the house is desolate.
You’re a midnight explorer.

There…

Her back against the wall,
she sits amidst
sheer pink organza.
A party dress, (so carefully purchased),
surrounds her now.

Hardwood floors are no place for a lady;
the tears say she doesn’t care.
Self imposed sentence,
she wore her best dress
and she’s waiting, waiting
there.

You keyhole peeper
you want to be her.
Well, maybe just hold her
maybe just see her.

Click the lock.
(don’t knock)
Grab the door, get on that floor.
Enchant the party dress prisoner.
Take her hair in your hands
lift her eyes, scream in her ears

wake her
wake her
wake her
wake her.


**I am pretty much sure that this poem is awful. But hey, sometimes what I think is terrible, other people identify with.