you wears your suit as boys of eighteen often do-
scratching and pulling at the confines of your tie
and wondering why
you're dressing up for the dead
and the girl across the room simmers
as she curls her fist into a tight ball
and slowly unfurls it
"you did this," she whispers in your ear
pointing to the cheap casket
that contains your target
she's vindictive and fiery
because she's seen her friend fall,
her sister gone.
and so right there
in the room of somber black,
she attacks, seizing the moment
for herself and the fallen.
because today is the day
that she stops the world
stops the broken record playing
the phrases of a girls' life
and becomes more
than a bejeweled,
exotic turntable
A/N: So for this, I was really inspired by death, obviously, and how it can reveal things about people that we otherwise might never have known.