I’ll break your pretty face

Porcelain dolls break

That's what she always said

With one hand wrapped around a latte

The other around his throat

She would say, artificial honey sweetening her speech

You're so pretty, so pretty

As he melted to the floor in her embrace

A pool of flawless skin riddled with bullet holes

People call her a serial lover

Tell stories about how she left hearts on the subway station everywhere she went

Always broken, always squeezed to the extent that it couldn't be called an organ anymore

Littering the ground beneath her feet

And they knew her as heartbreaker

Called her monster

Nicknamed her black widow

And wrote poor girl on her gravestone

The boys she met fell in love too fast

Just like they bled out too fast

She loved to watch the crimson pool in their chests

Before it cascaded across their muscles onto kitchen tiles

She had a type, many recall

Blonde, mostly, because in her words, "It looks better against red."

Intelligent but foolish enough to not see what was underneath

Always tall, handsome by any stretch of the word

But she always dubbed them pretty

Pretty in white shirts stained in vermillion

Pretty noses broken on bedsheets

Pretty boys, always pretty boys

Some ask if she's been to a psychologist

And the answer is always yes

She sees one every year, every six months sometimes

And she's killed every single one

Hollywood curls covering a broken girl

Sometimes, she looks in the mirror and hates what she's become

Because even though the courts told her to plea insanity, she's not

That was right before she broke their pretty faces