Michael S.

She walks in the door
Sees a shell on the floor
Smoking round on the ground
Dark red trail to the kitchen
A menacing song kicks in
Something wrong
Fix in
On her eyes
Cold, as though she died
The cries
Yells
In her eyes
All the fires of hell
Burning bright
Fright turns to might
And beauty, a sight
And fury
Burning white
Through her veins

Searches through the drawers
Clothes scatter on the floor
Down on all fours
As she retrieves the piece
That gives her Death’s touch
This is no bluff
She is for real
The decision she makes
Gets no appeal

Facing death is nothing
After you’ve lost everything

Steps in, starts the car
Ready for the task
Cares not if she’s condemned
So she wears no mask
Black leather gloves
Grip tight the wheel
She has no feeling
Emotions are surreal
Drive
Drive, you are not alive
You have no purpose
But to redeem
So it seems.

This is true vengeance
This judge
Shall carry out her sentence.