We choose our target.
Set a mark.
Tongues loaded.
Callous giggles armed.
To tear off her clothing,
for starters.
Rip the labels
which proclaim her expensive tastes.
While pondering the effort
she puts into her hair
and the signature paste
on her lips.
We talk of the excuses
she stores in her brain.
Safe, just in case
she isn't perfect.
She uses them an awful lot.
We don't stop there.
Not until everything
is torn apart.
Chat of her sister,
away at Harvard,
who we know nothing of,
aside from her grades,
leads to banter of her parents.
The damage they've done,
to raise her as a princess.
But I think still,
of the damage my parents
must have inflicted upon me,
to have me say such terrible things.
