She lived at the point of ignition
as if grey pubes and stained afghans
happened to somebody else

She'd been dragging herself away 
from the Burning house 
since she was 11

Her elbows must be sore by now
but she
         crawled away 
                        continually
from everything

It was a learned behavior
seared deep in her flesh

She would need a blind dog and a crippled boy

before she'd get close to almost right

                    ...And they wouldn't survive.

                    ***
                    
At least demons die with their hosts.
Their banshee wails muffled in the shut-down