He Got Away

My pretty flower.
You shiver from my breeze.
Is your stem so delicate, soft,
that it might shatter from a tease?

I'm telling you.
Telling you it wasn't me.
I didn't touch her, sir.
I didn't lay a single hand - for,
she was such a quiet girl.

Is she quiet when she's dead?

Split legs,
severed head,
body splattered,
painted bed.
Hand prints squeezed
into the sheets,
tightly pressed against her -
Shh.

Keep quiet.
Not a sound.
Don't want rumors spreading round.

Is she quiet when she's - ?

Is she dead?
Heard the ambulance, it sped.

My pretty flower.
You shivered from my touch.
Was your stem so delicate, soft,
that you might cry, and beg, and such?

I'm telling you, officer.
It wasn't me.
What can't you seem to see?
Yes, I'm sure,
I know I always had admired her.
She was such a quiet girl.

Quiet.
Keep quiet.