Dragging the razor across your neck,
he never taught you to shave,
your thought as you stare
into the cracked mirror
admiring your crimson necklace
which falls neatly
across your chest
Standing, grinning, this is what they wanted.
They'd have taught you otherwise.
They pushed, like hair through flesh,
until it was obvious,
something had to be done.
Was it your heavy, uneven footsteps
or the gurgled laughter they heard last,
you know you heard their hurried steps
up the stairs, and the shriek,
then the darkness enveloped.