Murder in the 1st Degree Poem

Hannah Bubar

 

     The weapon was just left there,

     On the ground.

Blood splattered on the alley way’s walls,

The first responder calls in the crime scene.

“There is a female corpse,

  Clear signs of struggle.

Marks of strangulation on her neck.

 Bullet wounds to the head.

This was definitely murder. In the first degree.

 Evidence was gathered,

And her body was prepped for autopsy.

 She was 17 years of age,

 She had long brown hair,

    Beautiful green eyes,

      Her family had been notified.

 They had puzzling looks on their faces.

    They come in to identify the body.

“That’s our daughter, but she can’t be dead.”

Not dead, she’s still alive.

One part is dead, the other,

             Living.

Forensics finished processing and analyzing the evidence.

Both samples of DNA suggest it was the same person,

The victim and the murderer.

I go to court and all eyes are filled with grim wonder.

“Do you really want to know what happened?”

The room still, silent.

Hanging on to every word.

   “Well, I technically killed myself..”

          “How? You’re still here.”

   “Exactly. I killed the bad part of me.”

             I know I’m good,

So why not kill the bad part of me?

Every day felt like I was drowning,

 In freezing cold, choppy water.

         It got to a point when

I would constantly be dehydrating myself.

  I stopped caring about the migraines,

     Just had to get the water out.

But then I got thirsty, and started drowning again.

       Why can’t I just evaporate?

  Not even water and soap could

         Wash away the ugly.

    The ugly living inside of me.

   So instead of being tolerable of her, I just killed her.

It’s better than erasing my entire existence,

Only leaving 13 reasons why on tapes

Tapes passed around to those who let the ugly get

      Disgusting.

So that ugly, undesirable bitch is gone.

Now all there’s left is someone getting used to their skin,

 Their personality,

    Their voice,

   And their life.

Now here I stand, claiming what’s mine,

Me.