Crushed pt2

Had he never touched her,
Had she never cried,
If the police had never came,
She'd still be trapped,
Just stuck inside.

"Why'd you wait so long to come?" A voice asked. It was wavey and faint. "Why didn't you save her?"

"Are you the man who did this? Did you murder this little girl?" The officer asked. His gun was out, flashlight positioned underneath.

"If you had a sex life, a sex life, would you even worry about mine?" The voice quoted, laughing a booming laugh.

"You're sick!" A woman shrieked. "Get off of me! NOW DAMMIT! Ow, ow, st-" She was cut off, and a gurgling sound was made. There was blood in her throat, pooling and dark, spilling from her mouth.

"You missed me.." The voice said again. It was a man's voice, but undistinguishable. "Where am I?" He laughed again.

They missed the hurt,
And another one goes.
He crushed her dreams,
That's how the story goes.
He stole their lives,
And tore off his clothes,
He crushed them all,
That's how this sad little story goes.

"She wasn't little," was his only defense. "She was delicious," he'd say, a sick look in his eyes.

"You're a horrible man, and I never want to see you again." A woman said.

"Your daughter was delightful, a prize." He said, looking at the woman's breasts. "Number seven, lucky seven. Number seven, lucky seven.." He kept repeating it, rocking back and forth.

Seven girls,
Was seven prizes,
Eight girls,
Of lives they were deprived.
The man was a freak,
A creep at the least,
He rotted in jail,
And spoke of them all.

"Pooling, pooling, dark blood is pooling. I love these girls, they are my world." He said, pointing at nothing. But he could see them. All shaken and stirred, and bloody.

Bloody,
it drips,
And it spills from their mouths.
A number on their chest,
A name on their breasts.
He was sick,
They were fine,
He was ugly,
He said they were too.
He never thought of it as bad,
He only saw the pleasure.
Too bad he wasn't really,
Locked away forever..


(Possibly to be continued)