There you are
You are wearing a suede jacket, covered in black dried blood
The shoulder pad smoking from being badly singed
You wield a weedwhacker in your hands, blade spinning high above your head
Your cheeks are red with blood as well
But it almost looks like tears on your porcelain face
I want to be afraid, but I'm not
I feel pity
I can see the pain in your eyes
I can see the destruction that has driven you to this point
All the pain that has led to me
Standing on the other side of the door
Hand firmly grasping the rusted metal knob
Eye staring unblinking out the window
As your rage crashes upon the glass
And cuts through my lung
I feel out of breath
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