Pride And...

Hiding her face as much as she

Could with the extraordinarily

Large hat, black and all,

She walked away as quickly

As her legs could take her,

Hoping nobody saw the blood on her sleeves and hem,

She sped through the empty roads...

Quarantine, they called it,

It was her only chance to hunt

The demon of her dreams,

The man lying dead on the once, busiest part of town

Was the one who tainted her

Innocence years ago.

Her white dress, now,

Torn at the shoulder and knee

Was sprayed with blood,

It was still warm,

For the kill wasn't too long ago.

She wanted to yell at him

As she chucked the knife into his neck,

The artery bursting open,

Enough for the hot liquid to drip down,

She wanted to tell him,

Read him the letters

She had written over the years

For him, in the hopes of putting them at his grave.

Old and frail was he,

But his eyes were still as sharp as the

Day she remembered,

Tides of lust-filled gazes,

She felt disgusted...

All those years of blaming herself 

For being his pray,

For being put through all the pain

Just because he wanted some young flesh,

It's warmth making him feel youthful,

But what about how she felt?

She sure didn't feel like a woman at the

Age of... Well, is it important?

So she walked through the stony pathway,

Hoping no one noticed,

But the part of her

That felt like she had finally achieved something,

Wanted to parade the

Man's head through the streets,

Blood still dripping off of it,

She wanted the world to see

That she had killed the man

Who made her feel all

Those awful things...

Her heat swelled out of pride,

Pride of standing up for her younger self.

Wrong were her methods,

But she still wanted to put the letters on his grave,

For his perverted soul to enjoy the way

He made her heart cry

As if it had been peeling onions

For the longest time.