Matted hair covers my palms
It’s not mine
Not kinky like mine
Not dark like mine

I hadn’t realized how hard I was pulling
When I took a blade to his throat

I brush the hair from my hands
As if that would wash away the remnants of him
He’s made an indelible mark on my soul
I hate him for it
I hate me for it

Crimson soup pools around his crown
Like those images of white Jesus
Neither of them are what they say they were
What they tried to turn me into

Panic claws at my chest
I take a step back, hoping my shoes aren’t drowned in blood
They are
I liked these shoes
They’re cheap boots
I thought would last as long as necessary
Now they’re covered in blood

Goddammit!

Goddamn all of this!

He can’t hurt me anymore.
He can’t hurt anyone anymore.

Music blares from the party we just came from
The sultry rhythm calls to me
Beckoning me like I’m stuck in its trance
I take off my shoes and think of a way to dispose of them later
For now, the party is dark and loud
Offering me the cover I need.
The metallic scent of him
The burgeoning wafts of death and decay
Permeate my nostrils

This was for the best.