A Little Death

one.pretty girls

I like the pretty girls. The ones with the friends, the close family, the other boys chasing them.
It's relieving seeing them at their ugliest. Crying snot nosed little pretty girls. They'd claw at my ankles, begging me "Please, don't!" As if they have a privilege when it comes to death, but they don't.
They are, after all, the most insecure of them all. Constantly worried someone will see the ugly truth.
They cry salty tears like everyone else, they bleed crimson, like most do.
They shit themselves when they're dead, like every corpse does too.
I pick them up in my fancy car after school. They don't give a damn.
I'm handsome and older, they will follow me like a lost puppy, and I'll lead them to their unforeseen doom.
I'll buy them something, maybe a new pair of earrings. They'll trust me more knowing that I have money, that I could support them.
"I don't really like them..." They'd say, unappreciative of my gifts.

They always denied my gestures, some of them were so naive, they didn't even give me a kiss. I didn't eliminate those ones, though.
I needed a pretty girl to fall in love with me, bare whatever is left of her soul.
I want to give her everything, then take it all away. I want to see them ugly.
How did someone not realise they were missing?
Did I mention that forgery was my forte?
I ensure I am learning their mannerisms, what kind of language they tend to use.

"I've met a man who can look after me. You're not the boss of me anymore, I'm 17, I'm not a child! I'm truly in love with this man. I need to begin my life now. Without you in it."

All of those pretty girls say "I'm not a child!"...but they're so gullible, I could ask for anything, and they'd give me it.

Looks can kill, so now...you're dead.