I lie on my back,

gaze up at the ceiling.

At stars.

Black water spots.

There are ghosts in the carpets,

the air conditioner leaking dark water.

In the yard, a rusted clothesline,

the rotting bones of a bed.

I grow more and more afraid.

Am plagued by visions

of my body mangled

and lifeless on Farm Road 457.

Cars line the parking lot

like perfect teeth.

Bake in the relentless

Texas sun.

An elegy of headstones

for every girl

who went missing

in the dark.

After all, death

is the only thing

a girl can depend on.