I see the monument in the distance
And a blossom blooms in my brain.
My feet stop dead in their tracks,
Omniscient of the lots around them.
January shivers down my spine,
Unlocking a memory I want to forget;
But I see her face every-time.
She has no name.
They call her The Girl with the Glasgow Grin.

My heart beats heavy
When I think of her.
I see her:
Her laugh, her fear, her plea;
A life clipped short.
But they don't care;
She's a present to them, a mystery wrapped in enigma,
Just as the Wolf-Man sent.
She is more to me, a part of me.
Why? Why do I feel this horrific bond?
I never knew her.
I never knew The Girl with the Glasgow Grin.

My eyes haven't tricked me, time has.
I see her there, lying among the clumps of brown grass,
Arms beckoning in false exaltation,
Her dreams eaten by weeds.
The curls of her black petals,
Burnt wisps in stagnant air.
Warm skin melted to ivory;
Translucent eyes turned opaque.
They rejoice at the sight of her, the Fiends!
This is all she is to them:
The Girl with the Glasgow Grin.

They like to gossip
And libel her.
She's the gutter w*****, the flashy escort, the exotic temptress.
She's divided, stem cut.
The flower preserved in perversity,
The roots tainted by noir.
But I see her unscathed:
Sweet.
Kind.
Naïve.
Lost, trying to find her way.
What have they done to you?
You are more than what they have made you.
You are more than The Girl with the Glasgow Grin.

I know the truth
But I am just one.
I can't stop them. They won't listen.
They need only what the Wolf-Man has given.
I want to tell her it's not her fault.
I want to tell her it's okay.
But she can't hear me;
She's a memory now,
Silenced in a world where she can not speak,
Can not feel,
Can not cry her liquid tears.
What about me? I come back to myself.
I should be moving on, yet I linger
So that I might catch a glimpse
Of The Girl with the Glasgow Grin.