The Black Dahlia

THE BLACK DAHLIA, 6.22.2021

Once again, she flowed down the hallway with ease
unsure of exactly where she was or what she sees
Confused and wondering if she should go or stay
No watch on her wrist and unsure of the time or day

She forced her mind to determine her name
Her mind could do nothing but place blame
He said that he loved her beauty and grace
Now she was stuck walking this strange place

She was searching for something, she must think
Her mind a cloud of fear, doubt, and drink
Did she know what had happened here
Her head swam with images of blood red fear
 
To meet her sister at the Biltmore on January nineth
Instead, she met a man that she could not decline
He was charming, handsome and promised the world
They cocktailed at the Crown giddy as a young girl
 
Winded and romantic he whispered her name
Elizabeth, he promised, I will ensure your ongoing fame
Your name will be in all the news, papers and books
Come with me to my room, intrigued she was hooked

The doctor carefully washed the dead body in the bath
Pushing her black hair away as he wiped her down with gas
He left only once to get some critical surgical tools
He left her side leaving warmth on the stool

Upon return with precision performed the hemicorporectomy
Sweating he admired his work and secured her destiny
He then took her down to the servant’s entrance
Careful to note that no servants were in attendance

Carefully into his sedan he Loaded her top then her bottom
He smiled, and thought to himself, should he be solemn
In the early morning light of January fifteenth, she was found
A lady and her son walked by and an alert she did sound

The Black Dahlia was born of a two-part Elizabeth Short
Newspapers saying, she prowled the Hollywood Boulevard
Police interviewed all the men that was in her address book
Combing the gas washed envelope sent for a news hook

Did anyone know the lipstick murders may have held a clue
So much time has passed, the color of her dress a faded hue
Unsolved it would remain but the promise is still the same
So famous he did make her just as he had so claimed

Forever her name will be on the lips of murder hunters
But if they only knew how to connect the numbers
Ms. Short still here wanting to tell her gruesome story
But holds back because the fame in death gives her glory

So now she just roams the halls of the Biltmore hotel
Watching for the chance to give the Doctor a farewell
For eternity she will wait for the man that made her famous
While the stories, books and movies of her death entertain us