Henry’s Unfortunate Elegy For A Lost Girl

I lie here, buried in this rubbish,
soiled newspapers from the month of June,
black banana peels, maggots, tin cans,

the boy raped me, hurt me, strangled me,
and raped me again after I was dead.
I still can not believe it.

I see the pain on my mother’s face,
I see the anger, the love I took for granted.
Yet, somehow, it does not matter to me.

There is no pain now, no time,
occasionally a flick of light
strikes me as odd,

but, otherwise, my death is my life.
I lie here, buried here, while the living
walk on glass just above me,

and this may well surprise you,
but, I am so afraid the glass will break
and you will find me!