Footsteps

A daughter of a whore,

I had no other choice, but

To follow her path

No father,

no money,

So I walk the streets

Night after hellish night

never looking into their eyes.

My head stays turned

Tears soak the pillow

the slow, long walk home

the darkness surrounds me

the night consumes my soul.

Footsteps. . .

A chill creeps through my body,

I speed up

I feel hot breath on my neck,

the same hot breath I felt

as the tears fell down my cheeks

moments ago

I try to scream

a hand stops my voice.

Cold steel crosses my throat.

Now is it heaven or hell?














Dont forget to read the other two Jack the Ripper poems: from the police's point of view http://danielperrucci.blogspot.com/2013/02/chasing-satan.html and from the eye of jack himself http://danielperrucci.blogspot.com/2013/02/fear-and-loathing-in-london.html