Her.
reeking of cheap perfume and daddy issues
polyester black cloth elegant, purposeful in its placing
“everything is free if you run fast enough”

something was going to **** her anyway
why not let it be something of her own design?

taking a drag of her pernicious cigarette
forcing careful and cultivated opinions
if only to silence the sadist inside

she had already walked in loneliness
full of satin bows and amusement
so it might as have happened now
because everyone always loves you better when you’re dead