she hangs in the lonely corner 

where the shadows never seem to go 

she lurches over into the cracks of the wall 

she scratches at the paint 

and picks up the chips and lets it melt on her tongue 

she talks through the walls 

she likes her teddy bears 

with their heads off 

she doesn't use scissors to make snowflakes  

she uses knives and carves deep into the paper 

and licks the blood that lingers on the knife 

so it doesn't hit the floor 

she says it is a waste to let such good blood go to waste 

she smiles in 3's

3 smiles 

each one crooked and always angled into the direction of the corner 

she talks to herself because she has no friends 

she heard the voices pulling her out her bed 

and out the door 

she traveled into 

the vortex of her thoughts 

and vanished 

her mind swallowed her 

all that was left wet paint chips that were  teethed on 

and a teddy bear with's  it's head ripped off with your name.

yes your name the reader's name 

now what did you do this girl 

that caused her to disappear 

to hide in her thoughts 

did you judge her?

she's hover's over your bed with a knife 

all you have to do is say sorry 

and I will call her off your guilty conscience 

<p>&lt;/p&gt;It was one of those things, they tried to explain to him. The system was overwhelmed these days. It had to solve the core issue, which was getting the son-of-a-bitch who killed Stacy off the streets for good. He was half-dead anyhow, from shooting it out with the cops. It was just hard math coming down in the form of a budget and a court calendar. They could prove six different ways that Jiero had shot a cop in the head after he was down, and they still had no leads on where Stacy was presumably buried. There was no statute of limitations and no deals being made. If and when...</p><p>

</p><p>So that's why Jiero would not stand trial for Stacy's murder. Not yet, the prosecutor wanted to stress, like a bad car salesman with a gimmick.</p><p>

</p><p>He skipped the trial. What was the point? He was vaguely sorry for the cop's family, but the prosecutors wouldn't bring him into it at all, and why sit like a schmuck with the reporters and the law students and the sick freaks who watch murder trials for fun?</p><p>

</p><p>After the verdict came in, he just felt numb, and had too much to drink, remembering. He had been rightly angry, that was what hurt him, that if he had to do it all over again, he had to admit, he'd still have been mad. And she wouldn't see reason, so she'd probably get mad. It would probably have ended in a fight anyhow. </p><p>

</p><p>But Oh Sweet Christ, to end it with different words.</p><p>

</p><p>"See you later," he'd said from the car.</p><p>

</p><p>And her last words were, "I'll be here, won't I?" </p><p></p>