I am the last whispered breath
laced with traces of cyanide
still clinging to my teeth.
I am a foam at the mouth mess
of thrashing limbs
heart beating like waves against the shore
after an earthquake.
I am the girl who is dying
and won’t let you hear the end of it.
I am fingernails slicing my own throat
scream like the chalkboard in third grade
as nails graze the surface
and you shiver in your bones.
I am a high-speed collision.
The horrid clash of metal
so loud it swallows the cries of pain
that even the dying cannot hear
because I am the ringing in their ears.
They bleed out quietly.
Unseen under the wreck that is me.
I am the girl who will do anything
for the world’s attention.
Wait for the impact;
tragedy has a ripple effect.
I am the x-marks-the-spot
of the bomb drop.
The mushroom cloud overhead
stretches out like an umbrella
but acid rain isn’t the same as water:
it’ll burn thorough your skin
tragedy doesn’t build character.
I am the girl who is dying,
but just wait for the impact.
