Tear! Rip it up! (Pretty)
~a poem by Bea~
Degenerate, lustful beauty queen.
The space between her hip bones hollow.
Sitting on her throne of skull bones.
Enjoying lively death.
Eyes gleaming with envy,
A midnight black crow perched on her shoulder.
"Excuse me, miss?" a little girl asks from behind.
"What?" she snarls.
"I want to be pretty. I want to be just like you."
"Oh, that's what you want?"
"Yes. A lot."
"Get her." she answered bluntly. Vultures snatch the little girl.
"What shall we do with her, miss?"
The fingers of Miss Peculiar click.
"Tear! Reap it up!" she screams.
A small skeleton, about 8 years of age,
New, fresh, gleaming in the moonlight,
Sits at the feet of Miss Peculiar's throne.
No emotion, green flames in her eye holes,
Each and every bone seen.
The skeleton rises up to its feet,
Puts bone in front of bone,
Marches up to a mirror, and
Emeralds in her eyes, cooes
"Pretty."
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Author's Note: Yet another poem. Believe it or not, I have written more poems in the last 24 hours than I had in the whole timespan of 2012. Wow. Turns out I'm alright at this. Interesting.
This poem has got to be my favorite out of all I've written before. I'm afraid to say it doesn't blame society as much as I'd like it to, but, now that I've found out I'm quite interested in blaming society, blaming anyone, for instance, I'll be sure to come back to this subject in the neither near, nor far future.
This makes me sound like a 45 y.o. I'm 12.
xx, Bea.
