Walked right up to him
stating her business.
her words unknown and unimaginable
to the thought process of a mind
free of sobriety, dressed in the hell-favored, favorite--
a Satan made garment,
meshed within each curve of her body.
a red dress in which
she firmly pressed up against his chest,
with lips to his ears, repetitively saying his name
today, on his 19th birthday
at a gathering she'd gave,
shortly after sniffing several lines of cocaine.
she'd made him her claim.
& He'd been nice, seemed so plain
but he'd fall hard
and she'd be only numb to the pain
she'd chose to emit
because in it, she felt fearless.
dressed in her new skin.
a new life she would begin,
staring back at her
in mirrored eyes, and blurred reflections
of life's worldly lies
it would be the death of her.
and that dress, well
it’d be the goddamned
dress they'd bury her in.
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