Lace, Defend, Bang

Blood from a bruised nose

Running across her bottom lip

Dripping crimson off her chin like

A leaky faucet.

The white lace sleeves collect

The stream like a blood bank

As her varnished eyes sweep the room

Hawklike.

God, it could have been so flawless

Her love at the end of the aisle

And her in an ivory A-line treading across

Blushing petals.

Yet perhaps not all things are meant to be

She knows now as the crazed eyes of

Her future/not-future mother in law

Are wide open.

She is dead with the bride's heel

Still caught in her jugular

But it's finally stopped spurting blood

On the altar.

It had to be done, she thought

Her fiancé's mother was certifiably

Ill in the head, but the bride may be

As well.

The church itself was speechless

Christ on his crucifix petrified

As she held the dead woman's gun against

Her own temple.

Bang.