Haters

‘Is it your last day on Earth,
or everyone’s last day?’
Facing the final knell and breath
she sends forth bloodlust, death wishes,
siren song of the offering end: a take-down,
not a few. Seizing that coup de grĂ¢ce, she dwells
on that momentary unzipping
when those corseted inhibitions
unfold with naked pride.
Ends would be burnt worthwhile,
shameless rage dashed cheek red
with a splattering of right.
Take a tour around the closet, though,
where hangs an abundance of vengeance
organised by fabric, size and sin,
a precious, mirror-tested catalogue
she now dips in and pivots, testing the
glimmer of this dream attire
between the merest suggestion
of a hanging pause.
‘I would kill all my enemies.’
(Haters gonna hate.)

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