The Red River

The Red River
Jessica Marie

Satisfied, she looks at the body with a grin,
Red river swim, limp and pale, a proven win.
A long awaited struggle, now over with pride,
Deception gone, but thinks of all she still hides:
Her hands are small, worn with nail scratches;
Catching her reflection amongst the mottled patches—
Stepping over the corpse, looking deeper in the glass,
A savage face looks back at her, aged by a depressed mass;
Knocking her weapon off the sink, tears well against her face,
Decorating it one by one as the blackness is traced.
Grabbing her hair, red fading out, replaced by black roots,
Screaming her frustrations and thinking of people to boot—
Lifelines fading, wrists with scarlet revealing, she cries,
What have I become? As she thinks of all the lies;
Those wonderful lies to kill all the emptiness and pain,
But deep down she couldn’t hide and begins to stain.
What have I done to myself? She begins to stare
At her body against the bathroom floor without a care.