Tonight's Show

All the houses are blue,
even the screaming yellow ones.
Bloody noses behind wreathed 
doors. Prim roses rim prison
gates. The thorns creep
onto the sidewalk, barking at
neighbors dressed in white.

Domestic bliss?

Sun shines through windows,
but dark figures wrap themselves
around every corner
waiting for a young heart
to feast on.

Blonde pigtails drape over
Wild, wet eyes, her toes glide
soundlessly, just like her mourning,
across rolling cherry wood.
She stifles her giggles as the
monsters cross the threshold.
Perfumed clothes sway,
whispering to her "Do not to listen!"
to things she does not want to hear.

She'll go through puberty with fingers
in her ears, or maybe
down her throat.
A statistic with pitch black
eyes that match her mind.
Watching has proven to have
the same outcome as experiencing.
"What a shame..."

The closet is a shield,
which will soon be lined with skeletons.
For now,
It is an auditorium.
Her face is pressed up against the door
Like a child outside of a toy store.
Curiosity is morbid.
Tonight's show:
A mother's scream, a father's fist,
She watches behind glittered bangs,
Careful not to make a sound

Between the slits,
Window light glares.
What hides in the shadows?