murder is about geometry.
arms at 90 degrees and legs
forming an isosceles triangle;
dust your fingerprints from
my brother used magnifying glasses
to kill ants on the driveway.
you kidnapped me from the sandbox,
where I drew circles with my compass
it’s the only instrument that allows me to be perfect.
so leave me to die on the kitchen floor,
but use the mop to clean up the heart-shaped blood.
wipe away the circles that scream your name.