Footsteps outside
A broken window-
You sit up,
Heart pounding,
Dreams fading
As they always do.

Filthy mattress
Upon cracked tiles-
Ceiling on the floor.
Needle forgotten,
You leave your bed,
Bare feet padding, stealthy.

You watch her
Through the dirty glass;
She has a camera,
The dead house
You now shelter in
Stolen by her lens.

Cautious, you ease
On down the hall,
Stained ceilings,
Missing fixtures-
Slipping out into the light,
Beneath the sagging porch.

Watching from the doorway,
Squinting in the morning glare;
As she records the decay
Of a house
That you once murdered,
Long ago as someone else.

She sees your
Man-shaped shadow,
Against a weathered wall,
Tensing, poised for flight-
You shrug, "Hey."
She relaxes (just a little).

"Lure her in, then kill her!"
Your dreams now softly hiss,
"Who would ever know?"
But soul-burdened
And heroin-swamped
You lean there, only watching.

Looking without looking
She says, "I love old houses-
I've known this one
Forever." Click.
(She steals your picture,
Mace now close to hand.)

You sit down,
Cracked steps, overgrown,
She takes another
Without looking-
Barefoot, you light up,
Click, then click again.

Framed between two pillars,
You fold your arms
Across your knees,
Needle tracks
Within your elbows
Scream with silent scandal.

"There was a murder here;
Back in '69." She smiles,
"I've never been inside."
You laugh, almost crying.

Fading dreams sing
Of this place,
Windows whole,
Broken bodies on the floor,
Hot blood slick between your teeth,
and Dru's orgasmic laughter.

Left behind
Are rotting walls
Still, they shelter you,
A man, a house,
Both worse for wear-
Funny how that is.

She parks it
On a sagging porch rail,
Traffic hurtles past-
"Don't say much, do you?"
You shrug, almost-smirking,
There isn't much to say.

The noon sun scorches
Through neglected trees
Her shutter clicks once more,
"Had lunch yet?"
You lie, "Yeah."
As your stomach growls out the truth.

She shares a sandwich,
Crunchy peanut butter-
Thick between your teeth
With Coca-Cola and chips,
On the porch of this
Long-dead little house.

"Kill her now!"
Snarl your fading dreams.
"Pawn the camera,
Then score some junk!"
(Freckled are her bare arms,
Inside the wrists are scars.)

Late noon golden overhead-
Your fading dreams
Now snarl at you,
"Rape her in the weeds out back!"
Instead, you share your lighter,
Together you sit smoking.

There's not much left
To keep her here:
Trading pictures for company-
One more kind of whoring
(Easier on the arse than most.)
Rough trade etched on film.

Come twilight
She says, "Later."
One last image stolen-
Leaving you to the needle
Amidst the peeling bones.