He walks. Wilted. With a walking stick.
She glides. Flawless. Without a head.
At the shore,
Drift onto the sand,
At their scarred feet.
The faces look familiar.
They plan. Their life.
On that bright billboard.
They see children. They see a home.
They see a graveyard.
For the foetuses who will escape life.
He will strangle her when the sun goes down,
And she will pretend to be asleep.