seven; the circus

So the other day, my friend Michelle (and an anon commenter) said that one of my poems was a bit "bad touch" as in, pedophilia/rapist. Therefore, I decided to post my poem that actually IS bad touch. Violaa~

At the circus,
children scream
delight, delight.

They squeal and laugh,
and run past
in blurs of joy.

Shadows shiver,
creep and crawl.
Someone is there.

Cotton candy
fills your head,
while he comes close.

Again you turn,
his arms open;
where are you now?

Dark, deaf, and blind;
at his mercy,
judgment does come.

Before you can
scream for help,
where are you now?

Screaming for mom,
lost and dazed,
what just happened?

For seven years,
you think daily
of the circus.