Murder She Wrote

silhouette_of_a_girl

No, it wasn’t suicide
the freedom in her chest
the genuine in her throat
and the explosion of awareness
she didn’t try to hide
packing a strap
never hesitating to open fire
leaving trails of Earthquakes lingering at your side
pen to paper
creating a new world of gun smoke
white dope
and fienes who didn’t mind dropping the dime
even if sudden truth made em choke
you see she killed ignorance with her words
dropping bombs
and cracking open minds
that refused to otherwise
oblige
she ate books with the speed of speech
and digested their integrity for breakfast each morning
but she wasn’t a good girl
or rather
a good woman
for she would spit tsunamis later that night
a raging storm
were her words when she blessed the mic
a collection of seas
to wash away the broken
and a ringing silence afterwards
like screaming death was her audience
jaws scattering somewhere across the floor
tongues unfolded
like red carpets
and eyes found a home in her face
it was clear
she’d destroyed the room
overturned tables
and left bodies in a state of ruin
for they all sat unmoved
like statues
feared her voice like blank pages
and empty books
silence dragging their minds to ponder
a new birth place for their thoughts
and no this wasn’t suicide
for she killed ignorance with her words
and the detectives concluded that yes
indeed
it was murder she wrote

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