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My god, she was beautiful,
he said at her funeral,
lowering the casket
into the mud.

My god, she was bright,
he said, glancing right
to see her dead mother
blowing her nose.

My god, she was nice,
he said for the price
of six thousand dollars
to bury the girl.

My god, she was good,
he said to the wood
in the ground that would never
see daylight again.

My god she was slow,
he thought as he showed
pity to those
surviving the dead.

My god, she was soft.
He thought of the cough
that she made as a sign
of her ending life.

My god, she was loud
when she left that large crowd
and went in the rain
to take off her clothes.

My god, she could scream,
it was just like a dream
just feeling her tremble
and hearing her beg.

My god, it was sad
the way she made me stab
her three hundred times
with the knife in my hand.

My god, it was art.
Her legs stayed apart
just to long enough to
impregnate her corpse.

My god, it was beautiful.
He preached at her funeral
with six grand in his pocket
and a secret he hid.

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